The Truth
by Foul Ole Ron
Summary: ‘Now, as you may have noticed, I am continually performing random acts of stupidity, but this really was one of my more idiotic…’rnLily Evans, at least, knows when to laugh at herself. Most of the time, anyway.
1. The Diary of Lily Evans

_DISCLAIMER_: I don't own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

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**The Truth**

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_THE DIARY OF LILY EVANS_

Tuesday 1st of August

This is the beginning of the Diary of Lily Evans. I don't know what on earth possessed me to start a diary, and I doubt I ever will. I can't be held accountable for anything written after this point, and even as I am sure no one will _ever _get their hands on it, should this unfortunate event occur, rest assured I will state the truth and nothing but the truth (as the truth seems to _me anyhow). Any person/place/thing cast in a bad light – it is your own doing. _

And now, as I am one of those obsessive people who feel that they might one day forget their own identity if they don't record it in their secret diary, my name is Lily Rose Evans and I am seventeen years old. My father is called Peter and my mother is called Angelica. My despised sister is called Petunia, and our ginger cat is called Ginger. I go to Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (the fact that fuels the despised sister's eternal wrath), and I am Head Girl in my last year there. Now that I have told you all the things that are quite boring, I shall document my day so far.

It is the second day of school for the year (I should have liked to start the diary on the _first_ day of school because what if I should want to look back on the first day of my seventh year in years to come and find no evidence of it? I almost convinced myself not to start the diary at all) and already I am wishing it were holidays and I was back with the despised sister writing invitations for her upcoming wedding. It is nine o'clock at night and I am sitting in my four poster scratching away by candle light. I just hope I don't wake the other girls. This is not because I am kind and considerate (although I am), but because there is no worse punishment than listening to the woes of Theresa Grey (the girl in the next bed) after six o'clock on any given day. But I am veering off the documenting of my day. It began at seven thirty when I woke up, and went down to breakfast. All the congratulations of my peers on becoming Head Girl were lost on me, as I was still seething from the revelation of the day before. That disturbing discovery being the appointment of James Potter to the position of Head Boy. Now you, innocent Diary, will not see the sheer horror of this piece of information. Your face will not blanche at the enormity of it, you won't have ground shattering visions of a future in which the school life as you know it is plunged into darkness – or more likely – madness and mayhem. No, you won't look incredulously into the benign face of Headmaster Dumbledore and fear for his sanity. 

You see, we have a history, James Potter and I. For most of our school life we have been – at odds. To put it mildly. Or perhaps James Potter and the entire _school have been at odds. And although this information would be nothing new to most people, I will relate it to you, dear Diary, so that I might laugh over it later on. _

James Potter and his little gang, or Sirius Black and his little gang, whichever way you like to put it, have dedicated most of their Hogwart's careers to causing as much trouble as possible. Without getting expelled, of course. Sirius Black and James Potter have always been best friends, and their other two cohorts, Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin, are very close with them too. They to this day call themselves the 'Marauders', an utterly ridiculous title if you ask me. But the thing that I have always found peculiar is the way everyone loves them for their pranking ways. For example, last year, Sirius Black could tip raw frog entrails all over one of his female classmates, and the next day she'd be mooning over him – conveniently forgetting that he doesn't care a toss about her and spent the previous day having a good laugh at her expense. The only sensible reason is Black's astounding and ill-deserved good looks, and Potter's unquestionable skill on the quiddich pitch (A magical sport – should someone read this in a thousand years time when the game is dead and gone) and now, of course, his promotion to head boy (when he's never even been a prefect before). It just shows how disgustingly shallow everyone is. Why, I must be one of the only seventh year Gryffindors who doesn't hero worship the pair of them, boys and girls included. Although, to be fair, the 'Marauders' haven't been nearly so obnoxious lately, and Potter hasn't been randomly cursing people for a laugh since the middle of last year. But still, it could be the lull before the storm. Just because Potter _appears_ to have become less arrogant doesn't mean he _has. I feel absolutely _sure_ that the so called congratulatory smile he gave me this morning was more of a triumphant smirk, as if to say '_ha_¸ beat you again Evans'. I realise I have used more italics than is proper, but I am trying to emphasise a point. Oh dear, I seem to have gone on for a whole paragraph about James Potter. I'm starting to make myself sick. Damn that boy! Here I am trying to record my day and all I can do is fume about __him. Oh well, there is always tomorrow – or the next day. Argh! What is the point of a diary if you don't write regularly? I know I won't, however good and obsessive my intentions are. _

Anyway, today was the first day of classes, obviously, and we Gryffindors were lucky enough to have a double potions class. I cannot stress to you how much I regret taking potions. I must have been off my head, or on drugs or something. If I had another chance, _nothing would induce me to take potions again. But at the end of fifth year I had some fool idea of being an auror (dark wizard hunter in case you were wondering), and to do that you need to get a good NEWT in potions. The day had been going fairly well, apart from the Potter encounter, but the look of malignant delight on the face of Professor Lalli, our potions teacher was enough to put anyone off their day. Alright, so it may not have been __malignant delight, but it was certainly delight. Actually, Professor Lalli is a disturbingly OK person for someone who spends their time experimenting with horrendous ingredients alone in a dismal dungeon. She _enjoys _it. She takes delight in teaching it to us, and if someone does it wrong she brightly says,_

"Oh, that's alright! You just try that again!" and no matter how many hours it takes, that unfortunate soul _will get their potion right. And yes, I am being cynical, but if I can't say it to my diary, who can I say it to? Professor Lalli does have her upsides, off course. She is about the only teacher who did not go into a serious tirade about how it is our NEWT year and we should be studying hard from the first. As if we didn't know it already. The same teachers made the same speeches last year to remind us that it was the start of our NEWT years and that we should be studying hard from the first. But not Miss Lalli. She went on business as usual, launching straight into the complicated but ultimately fulfilling experience of making a potion that will turn Salamanders purple. And the whole class did it without complaint. Even Sirius Black does not argue with Professor Lalli, for there is simply no point. Smart comments wash over her like water off a duck's back, and intimidation techniques would work better on drifting sea jelly. So really, the teacher is not the reason I hate potions. The reason I hate potions is because I am getting my marks by the skin of my teeth and I have an attitude problem when it comes to bubbling cauldrons of sliming gunk. _

So after our super duper first lesson we had Defence Against the Dark Arts, which ordinarily is a really good class – when we have Professor Dupinkay teaching it that is. Apparently Dupinkay is off visiting his daughter in Switzerland and will be back as soon as possible, and in the meantime we get to sit round and listen to Mrs Substitute (that's not her real name, but I feal I cannot even bear to write it down) dictate what seems to be our entire text book non-stop. 

At lunch, to cap the day of as one of the most depressing second days of school ever, Egbert Crilmer, or 'Eggy' as he is known to most people, all but forced me to enrol in what he likes to call his "Our Little Charmers Club". Seems to think I would be an 'asset to any organisation' and that it would be a 'perfect tragedy' if I didn't put all my exceptional charming skills into benefiting my peers. Sirius Black didn't fail to point out that every current member of the OLCC is male and that he was sure my charms would not go unnoticed. 

Perhaps I can throw myself from the top story of Gryffindor tower. Or better yet, perhaps I can throw _Eggy_ from the top story of Gryffindor tower. 

Yours Sincerely 

Lily Evans

Tuesday 8th of August

Dearest Diary,

It is a week since my first entry. I really am pathetic. But then, I have been busy, what with Eggy's damned OLCC meetings. If you thought the first _day of seventh year was bad, you'd better stop reading now for fear of cardiac arrest. In the first week we were piled with such a massive amount of  homework that the sheer wait of it caused actual physical pain. Each and every teacher ranted for a full half-hour about how we have to pull our socks up and study – this is the rest of our lives we're ruining – and _then _they have the _gall_ to tell that since we have 'squandered class time' we shall have to make up for it with extra homework. I _ask _you. I know that this might not sound like the kind of thoughts your typical head girl would have, but I'm telling you, Head Girls everywhere must have some kind of anger release system like this to deal with these kind of conditions – how else would we be able to behave all meek and responsible?_

But homework and merciless teaching staff are not all I have to cope with in my everyday life. The small mindedness and sometimes downright stupidity of my fellow students is becoming exceedingly hard to bear. For example, one of the girls in my dormitory, Lina Matherson, who has been 'going out' (although the only place you can go is Hogsmeade, and you do that every other week with your friends, but anyway…) with Sirius Black for the past week, suddenly realised what a worthless slime he is at half past eleven last night and began bawling her eyes out. One would have thought she might have got the picture when Black snogged Rebecca Seymour in full view of the whole common room last Friday. He told Lina he was on a dare but it was obvious to even the partially sane (me, namely) that he was lying through his teeth. So late last night, for no immediate reason Lina Matherson had a momentous revelation, or perhaps even a paradigm shift, and she yelled into the night,

"_Sirius Black is a ****ing b*****d and I HATE him!"_

Not all that awe inspiring perhaps, but accurate none the less. Today Lina managed to give Black the cold shoulder _all_ day. Quite an achievement for most girls (a slight exaggeration, but still the truth).  

Anyway, back to me. My Head Girl duties, while not all that taxing, do require me to spend a less than desirable amount of time with James Potter. Though he hasn't said anything atrocious to me yet, I know he must have something up his sleeve. Even though I wish it not, I do _know_ James Potter, and I just know he hasn't given up the 'fight for my love' as he referred to it at the beginning of our sixth year. 

For of course you do not know it, my dear diary, but Potter has long possessed and unseemly infatuation with me. From fourth year onward he found it his civic duty to tease me to death or convince me to be his girlfriend. By turns. His techniques were so excruciating that my feelings for him were verging on _hate there for a while. But, touch wood, he hasn't asked me out once this year, and we have barely exchanged more than a few polite civilities, and our Headship duties together are filled with blessed silences. I almost feel empty, you know. But that's just stupid. He'll surely be back to normal before long and I'll be wishing him a thousand miles away. _

I appear to be dedicating more and more diary space to James Potter. But maybe this is not so strange, I mean, he has been a big (however unpleasant) part of my life, and what is a diary if it is not somewhere to record what life is like. Maybe I should include something about my _true _friends. Not that I have all that many. I mean, I liked well enough, but I'm not on hugging/kissing/pouring my heart out terms with many of my classmates. In fact, call me a man, but while I find these activities rather embarrassing, Lina Matherson in particular seems to get an undeniable pleasure from them. My two closest friends would have to be Celine Varaten and Victoria Ellis-Chan. 

As I am sitting in a corner of the common room by myself and it is midnight, I have the peace and quiet to give you a detailed description of my two greatest friends. (I really must get out of the habit of staying up late. I have transfiguration first thing tomorrow and must be on my toes). What can I tell a diary about Celine Varaten?

Well, she's slightly taller than me and I call her Queen Celine, mostly because it rhymes and partly because she at times reminds me of some great monarch regally giving out orders to her loyal subjects (Victoria and I, predominantly). We've been friends since our first year, Celine and I, and I can safely and un-sappily say that we'll be friends for ever. Of course, due to her overly confident, queen-like nature and my not often exhibited but quite fiery temper, we've had our grievances – even to the point of sleeping out in the common room because we couldn't stand to be in the same room. But generally we've been the best of friends for seven years, a great achievement I'd say. As well as supreme bossiness, Celine has other qualities. She can turn into an appropriately indignant and even sensitive (if I'm lucky) friend at the trop of a hat and I don't think there's anything she won't say to anyone if she's fired up enough. She's also one of those rare and infinitely beautiful people who can yell at James Potter till he sufficiently cowed and not likely to come back for more. She also has a curious obsession with muggle bands (The Beatles in particular), and will avidly watch any taped football game she can get her hands on (not being muggle born herself, she spends a lot valuable holiday time in front of _my _television and supports our local team). But, I have to say, the true reason that I love Queen Celine is that her hair is redder than mine. In fact, it is positively orange, while mine is a darker almost-auburn. It gives me no end of delight to compare our hair colour and say to myself, "Well, at least my hair isn't carrot coloured." Yes, friends are good that way. (I loved the Anne of Green Gables Books, by the way). Especially friends who are likely to get their own back when certain juvenile males care to call us the 'Bobsy Twins.'

We didn't recruit Tory into the 'group' until fourth year, when Celine decided she couldn't bear another minute of seeing the infinitely shy Tory, a Ravenclaw, hanging around being bored stupid with that (according to her majesty anyway) _frightfully bookish Theadora Cole and equally scholarly Edward Stevenson, just because she was too scared to make friends else where. I did remind her at the time that we ourselves were partial to getting our schoolwork done and that I had never so much as sniffed at a detention, but Celine of course declared that this was _completely _different, and anyway, did you see _us _giving up our Hogsmeade Weekends to do practice arithmancy papers? So it was that Tory, wether it was for or against her own will, was rapidly but quite naturally made friends with and adopted into our little group. It was Celine's philosophy that Tory was far better off shyly going along with whatever we did for the duration at Hogwarts than shyly going along with whatever intellectual pursuits Miss Cole had in mind. I was not totally convinced, but it all turned out that Tory had an great sense of humour and is to this day one of my very best friends (and the slightly more sensible of the two if truth be told). _I _for one am sure she was destined to join our group, and seeing as Miss Cole and Mr Stevenson are even now probably cramming for the one unimportant question Professor McGonagall of Transfiguration will randomly ask the class tomorrow, I  have no pangs of guilt at Celine's subtle redirecting of her life at fourteen. _

So, yes, they are my two _real friends. I really cannot abide some of the other Gryffindor girls, but as Head Girl I must at least be civil even to the likes of Theresa Grey and Lina Matherson. _

Do you know, it's nearly one in the morning, I better go…oh dear, someone's coming down the boy's dormitory stairs….wait a moment…

Hello again. Do you know what just happened? _Sirius Black, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew just waltzed across the common room and out the common room entrance! And they didn't see me! And Potter was carrying an _invisibility cloak_! The _Head Boy_ thinks he has the right to go and rampage around the castle as childishly as he did when he was a mere student, does he? And drag his friends along with him? __Obviously I have been wrong about thinking he had changed! Oh, I'm so angry I could throttle him…I can hardly write…ooh, I should like to dob on him! I shall have to ponder this over night. Is it worth the ridicule? Humph…goodnight!_

Lily Evans


	2. A Shocking Piece of Information

_DISCLAIMER_: I don't own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

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**The Truth**

_A SHOCKING PIECE OF INFORMATION  _

Wednesday 9th of August

Ok. Another day in the life of Lily Evans has come to pass.

I have a feeling that I may be a whole different person – for better or for worse (probably worse) – because of the events of this particular day. I have reached a previously unimaginable level of confusion/emotional trauma/indecision. The happy and straightforward life (comparatively) of yesterday is gone forever. Thoughts that I have not allowed to enter my head for ages have breached the barrier and are threatening to transform me into one of those live-for-the-moment/spontaneous/anything-can-happen kind of people that I have never been. 

I had better start at the beginning, get my thoughts in order, so to speak. Firstly, I woke up late this morning due to my late night rendezvous with you and the knowledge that James Potter was even then prowling Hogwarts and being his irritating happy-go-lucky self (he shouldn't be allowed to do that at night _as well _as all day). I bolted down a quick breakfast of cornflakes and tepid orange juice, skilfully fobbed off Eggy Crilmer, coolly removed the bacon strips Sirius Black had placed on my back and even put on a reasonably attentive face when tiny Professor Flitwick the Charms Professor tried to start a discussion about the famous dueller Eduardo Sticknick. I reached Transfiguration Class in a state of calm verging on hysteria, and was gratified to find that James Potter was looking slightly worse for wear and Remus Lupin (who was a _prefect in fifth year and therefore should no better than to associate with the likes of Potter) looked an absolute wreck. Typically Sirius Black was as bright as a button (perhaps he's on drugs?), if a bit quieter than usual, but I couldn't let that worry me. I had to concentrate on Transfiguration, which is one of my more challenging subjects. I sat next to Tory, who's pretty good at it, and forced my tired mind to think about what my magpie would look like as a candlestick. Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration Professor, a lady stern and upright beyond her years took one look at my still airborne object and fixed me with a piercing glare,_

"Have another bird, Miss Evans. Concentrate," she said and walked off to criticize someone else. You would have thought I'd have earned a bit or respect, being head girl and all, wouldn't you? But not in the eyes of the unhealthily inflexible McGonagall. I, sweet Miss Evans, had trouble stopping myself from performing a Marauder like stunt and lobbing my flying candlestick (dead useful invention if you ask me) at her head. From the steady throb right in-between my eyes and the impossible to reach itch on my right shoulder blade, I could be fairly sure it was not going to be a good day. The rest of the lesson was fairly quiet, as the Famous Four seemed fairly out of it for the duration. This irritated me more than anything else. But I'd only myself to blame. I had debated wether to tell Professor McGonagall (the Head Teacher for Gryffindor), about their midnight escapades but decided the ridicule and inevitable revenge on _their part was not worth the bother. On the way out of Transfiguration Tory said to me,_

"What's wrong, Lily?" I just looked at her and shook my head. Tory just shrugged and said bracingly,

"Well, it's Potions next!" What would I do without my friends? 

In Potions, if possible, the day got slightly worse. This was mainly because Queen Celine takes Potions with us. Lately she's been back on an idea that I thought she, (and Tory) had put to rest long ago. It's just like Celine to resurface old jokes, conversations or incidents that she found particularly amusing, no matter how old they are. She can still have an animated discussion about the time in first year when I was particularly flustered by something and Tony O'Conner of Slytherin said, grinning slimily,

"Well why don't you just come to bed, if you're so _tired," And then, I, in my absentness, said,_

"Yeah, ok," and there was a half  hour in which the entire Herbology class laughed themselves stupid, Lina Matherson hyperventilated and was send to the hospital wing and Sirius Black got enough material for a year's supply of smart comments.

Juvenile, I know, but eleven year old mindsets tend to be tuned to this kind of thing. 

Anyway, Celine is currently nostalgic about the time Tory insinuated that I was _in love_ with James Potter. Can you believe it? I remember the conversation well, it was near the beginning of sixth year, and the three of us were sitting in the Gryffindor Common room late at night when no one else was there.

"Certainly a lot more homework this year," said Tory, who was brushing her beautiful, long black hair. 

"Yeah," said Celine, "And McGonagall's got a lot more of whatever's up her-"

"Celine", said Tory reprovingly. Tory has some kind of thing about insulting teachers. After all, she says, 'they're only here to teach'. Celine has a few things to say about those kind of comments.

"Tor?" asked Celine petulantly,

"But some things are just the same, unfortunately," I said, forestalling a pointless argument.

"Yeah?" asked Celine, "Like what?"

"Like James Potter's arrogant bastardry!" I said strongly, for I was at the peak of one of my close-to-total-loathing phases with Potter at the time. But to my surprise, Celine didn't give her usual vigorous nod of agreement at this announcement. She instead exchanged significant looks with Tory and smirked. Celine has an interesting smirk. Instead of just her mouth smirking, her whole _face smirks. Her dark brown eyes seem to sneer at you and even the way her orange hair falls over her face suggests supreme smugness. _

"What?" I asked, irritable and slightly off balance.

"Oh, nothing," said Celine tiresomely. I looked to Tory, nice Tory, the voice of reason. She at least didn't smirk. Tor probably _can't__ smirk. She just smiled prettily and said,_

"Dear Lily. It's just that we _know you don't mean what you say," she said inoccently, and she truly didn't have a trace of mischief in her voice._

"_What _are you talking about?" (do you notice that I'm always the one who gets needled and made fun of)

"She means you're dead keen on Potter, is all," said Celine, who doesn't beat about the bush. 

"_What?"_

"You heard me,"

"Lily, you don't have to admit it, but think about the way you're always talking about him-" (Tor failing to be peaceable)

"You've got the hots for good old Pots!" screeched Celine

"_Celine. It's Ok Lily. We just find your refusal to see true love amusing," said Tory with an unusually teasing tone. _

And that was the base of what became a embarrassing rumour that eventually reached the ears of Pots himself, serving to further inflate his ego until I dealt with it with a few carefully chosen words and quite a few slaps across the face. The problem that arose from it, though, was that for a short time I actually began to wonder if I _did like Potter in that way, and I found this very disturbing. _

Anyway, back to the present, or the past, or earlier today. In Potions Celine made a rather loud comment about how sick Potter was looking. This was ok in itself, because Potter was looking sickly, and it wasn't just tiredness. I wondered why I hadn't noticed it before. But then she had to go and add on the bit about how _I _should go and comfort him. (I'm seriously wondering why I'm friends with that carrot). But do you know what the strange thing was? He_ didn't even look up._ He didn't even grin or leer or make suggestive signals when Professor Lallie wasn't looking. He glanced absently at Celine, but didn't seem to even see her, and then got on with his work. And me and Celine were the only two people who were noticeably surprised! I must admit that I felt a pang of some sort in my stomach region, but I don't know what it was and I don't want to delve too deep. I watched Potter's hunched form for the rest of the lesson but could not make head or tail of what was wrong with him. Was I worried about him? Perhaps I was. I realised that he'd been looking peaky all term and I hadn't noticed. 

I was confused and unaccountably depressed for the rest of the day until Tor dropped the bombshell. We were calmly sitting down to our Transfiguration homework when I randomly asked,

"Tor, do you know what's up with Potter?" and her eyes widened, and she looked at me incredulously. (she's been treating the Potter subject almost sacredly lately, and I assumed it was because Celine had reminded her that he and I were 'destined for each other'. Turns out I _can_ be wrong)

"You don't know?" she whispered,

"_No_," I said impatiently,

"I-I thought you must know…I mean _everyone knows…and you're head girl…"_

"Well it obviously never occurred to him or anyone else to _tell me," I snapped waspishly, wondering how I could have missed out on what was so obviously common knowledge._

"It's his parents," she said softly, "They're dead. The Dark Lord Killed them, in the holidays."

I couldn't take it in at first. It's midnight and I still can't take it in. James Potter's parents are dead. Killed by the infamous Dark Lord, whose name no one dares speak. _James Potter's _parents are dead. James Potter - head boy, popular with everyone, pure blood, smart, wealthy. If something like that can happen to _him,_ then anything can happen. It isn't logical that the parent's of James Potter should be brutally murdered – it's just against the law of nature. Stuff like that just _doesn't__ happen to people like James Potter, or to anyone you know for that matter. It just makes you think – you could die at any second. The only time I've ever felt like this is when Daniel Davids, who was six years older than me and a wonderful quiddich player, jumped off the top of the astronomy tower. _

I am just an insignificant speck in the big scheme of things, and I'm now thinking unsavoury thoughts about how the world would go on just the same if I died this second. 

Argh! Truly, the world may not be as it seems. What am I going to do?

Lily Evans

Thursday 10th of August

7:30 am – When I next write in this diary I will have offered my deepest sympathies to James Potter. I lay awake last writhing in unexplainable guilt. Though it was through ignorance, I have been insensitive to say the least towards him. I merely rectifying the situation nobly, diary, and that is all. 

9:30 am – Alright, I lied. I just _couldn't _say, 'I'm terribly sorry I've been utterly indifferent to you so far this year because I didn't know you're parents were dead, Potter,' because there are a multitude things you shouldn't say to or in front of Sirius Black, and that is one of them. 

Lunch time – Several people have been giving me odd looks because I'm writing secretively in a note book while drinking pumpkin juice at the Gryffindor table in the great hall. (this diary is going to become an obsession).  Fortunately, I'm not the centre of attention, because Louisa Sarb (who thinks she should have been Head Girl, by the way) is currently dressed up in a cape and balaclava with her undies on the outside of her tights. She's giving s some sort of stirring speech about how we can _all _be heroes – and donate money to save the white rhinos and other endangered species. Funnily enough, everyone's raptly hanging on her every word. Who would have thought it?

1:30 pm – I am now sitting in History of Magic not taking notes. The teacher, Professor Binns is a ghost and is said to have failed to notice that he was dead when he woke up in the staff room one morning. So it is quite easy for him to fail to notice that almost no one in the class is doing anything vaguely constructive. It's going to be tough luck for those members of the class who were planning to copy _my _notes tonight. Why did I take History of Magic? Oh, now I remember – those drugs and/or that alcohol I must surely have been consuming at the time.

James Potter is doing his history notes. Wonders will never cease.

2:30 pm – Charms! My favourite subject! I'm only writing in this because Professor Flitwick hasn't arrived yet. We're doing cloaking Charms today!

I have to say _it _to James Potter after class. I really don't want to.

9:30 pm – Well, I did it. And even now I can't work out if it went well or not. In my desperation I took a chance and forced myself not to acknowledge the presence of Sirius Black. Luckily the two of them were last out of the Charms room and I blocked their exit by standing in the doorway and trying to look impressive. 

"Potter," I began, trying to keep my voice light and confidant yet retain an sufficiently sad/sympathetic expression on my face. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows, but he didn't smirk or say anything gross. I took a deep breath,

"I'd just like to say I'm sorry about you're parents, Potter," I said. Well they could hardly make fun of me after _that, could they? Potter's face didn't change, although his pale face did go slightly whiter. He removed his glasses and sighed tiredly (was this Potter letting down his guard?). Sirius Black didn't say anything, thankfully._

"Thankyou, Miss Evans," he said politely. He tried to smile, but it came out a sort of twisted grimace. With that he nodded to me and strode down the hall .Black stared at me, uncomprehending for a second. He has a quick mind, I'll give him that, because he said,

"You didn't know, Evans,"

"No," I said, not meeting his eyes.

"Well, it was nice you to say that, I suppose," said Black, running a hand through his long black hair. I had to stop by jaw from dropping. This was possibly the only serious or remotely sensitive thing Black thing had ever said to me.

"It's not fair, you know," he continued surprisingly, looking down into my face, "They didn't deserve it,"

"No one deserves to be-"

"They do," said Black fiercely, "Lord Voldemort does," I shivered at the sound of the evil sorcerer's name, but said nothing.

"They were _good_ people, Evans, and they shouldn't have died. They were good to me, good to everyone…" he trailed off, and I half expected him to sob, but his dark eyes were dry, if a little wild looking. 

"I'm sorry," I said inadequately. He nodded gravely, and went off after his friend, his tall figure soon blending into the afternoon shadows.  

I wonder if I'll ever get to see the strange, wonderful, human side of Sirius Black ever again?

Thursday 17th of August

Eliane of the unpronounceable second name is at this moment having an all out screaming match with Lina Matherson. Before I go on, I should perhaps explain a bit about the dynamics of our dormitory. There are six girls in the Seventh-year dormitory. They are myself, Celine, Theresa Grey, Louisa Sarb, Eliane OTUSN and Lina Matherson. I would say that the 'leader' or 'most popular' girl in our dorm would be Lina. Although this should have absolutely nothing to do with it, Lina has bouncy blond hair, big blue eyes and tanned skin. She goes on a lot of dates, and always has done, she laughs a lot and she bitches a lot – and she hates Eliane. The only people she doesn't hold sway over are Celine and I, and Celine says this is because we both have a red hair and are individual free spirits. I have my doubts about this hypothesis, but it is certainly true that mousy haired Theresa Grey is one of those people who follows Lina Matherson around like a puppy, endures her cutting insults and comforts her when she breaks up with Sirius Black. Lina Matherson can spend the entire night sobbing her head off and beating the walls with her fists and still come off as cool as ever in the eyes of her dorm mates. You would think that by the age of seventeen she would have seen the light and indeed realised her own shallowness. Louisa Sarb is slightly more intelligent, but is still inexplicably one of Lina's best friends. I would whole heartedly support her 'save the animals' stuff if I didn't feel that it was all for show – to gain popularity. Queen Celine has her clashes with all three of these girls, but they don't have the same grudging respect for her as they do for _me_. You see, there are some definite advantages to being Head Girl. It all lies in the power. Although Lina doesn't exactly _like me, she does tolerate me in my own right, something she's not prepared to do for most people. I'm kind of an indispensable member of the group, if you catch my meaning. You can't play games with the Head Girl or you might find yourself on detention – or worse. It is all a bluff, of course, I'm really not a very intimidating person, and would probably never carry out any threats people create in their own minds – but it works. Hopefully Lina will never see through the veil of head girl ship that prevents her from sinking her teeth into me. _

But back to the present. I am sitting in a corner, writing away with no one taking the slightest notice of me and wondering vaguely if it is my duty to put a stop to the fight. Louisa Sarb is sitting slightly closer to the action, far enough to seem responsible and uninvolved, but close enough to show Lina where her loyalties lie. Celine is perched on top of the upper horizontal rail on her four poster bed, as is her wont, and is watching with a funny little smile on her face.  

Eliane is standing with her legs shoulder width apart, her hair flying out behind her, and her face shining with tears. I'll describe, Eliane, shall I? Then you'll know why Lina hates her so much. Eliane is, I have to say, the most beautiful girl in the school, _unquestionably _the most beautiful girl in the school. And Lina loathes being second best (I too dislike being second best, but not about something as trivial as good looks. Besides, I maturely deal with any hardship. I am, after all, Head Girl)

Eliane is very tall and very thin, with the skin of a goddess and the most wondrous hair I've ever come across. It is truly _gold_, not pale yellow and not dirt blond, but _gold. It shines even when there's no sun, and it's great fun to plait and braid. Right now Eliane's face is screwed up in anger, but depressingly for Lina, this just makes her prettier than ever. (I've pointed her out to my mum and she said 'looks fade and you're metabolism changes when you're older. She'll run to fat, I know the sort,' Harsh, yes. But mothers always find fault with any non-friend nicer looking than their own children). But for all her inhuman beauty and appealing hatred of all things Lina, I've not been able to become friends with Eliane. Partly, this is because she's only been at Hogwarts since the middle of last year, and partly because she called Celine a 'red haired tomboy'. She's a French speaker but lived in Norway, and when she first came she didn't speak a word of English, and even now she finds it difficult (although this doesn't stop her from venting her feelings accurately). Lina, being the little pig that she is, is now screeching (loudly and slowly so she'll understand, of course) about how she stole Lina's lovely, _expensive _perfume. Eliane is, in-between tirades of what is probably ever French swearword there is, is denying it. It's quite amusing to watch, but it does grate on you're nerves. _

Finally, Lina gave up. It is impossible to scream Eliane down. She flounced off to the bathroom, Louisa and Theresa (hey, their names rhyme! I never even noticed! How appropriate!) trailing behind her. 

"Urgh!" said Eliane to Celine, "How I _hate_ zat girl!" 

Sometimes I really wish school could be over. It's becoming such a bore.

I probably should go to bed now, but I'm sure I won't get a wink of sleep unless I do some kind of silencing spell on my bed, and I can't be bothered to do it. Celine's rolling her eyes at me for spending too much time writing. I've made her agree not to try and steal it, and I think she senses that my fury will reach cataclysmic proportions if she does. 

While I have written all this trivial rubbish about my absurd roommates, I've avoided the subject I've been thinking about all day. James Potter. I really have reached rock bottom. I'm thinking about the welfare of James Potter. Since I made that pathetic little speech last week, he hasn't looked at me once. He's just been doing his work, keeping quiet. Not even aggravating the teachers. Sirius Black is obviously very effected too. I've just remembered the gossip I heard about him going to live with the Potters last year because he couldn't stand his folks. I though it just that, gossip. I mean, how could a handsome, popular, confidant boy like him be mistreated by his family? Now I'm not so sure. Anything can happen to anyone. Black's either a very cheerful person naturally, or an extremely good actor. Black, like Potter, has been keeping fairly quiet. Neither of them have a girlfriend, and Severus Snape (a Slytherin boy they used to treat abominably, even if he is a jerk) seems to be able to get a good dig into them and come out unscathed. Tor can tell I'm thinking about Potter (She's a real 'kindred spirit', unfortunately) and is making it clear that she knows more about my feelings for him then I do. Ridiculous girl. Potter may have been obnoxious to me through child hood, but he is defiantly not a Gilbert Blythe. But he defiantly is looking sick.

I've decided I'm going to ask if there's anything I can do to help him. I know this is basically walking into the lion's den, but I'm feeling irrational.


	3. Moments of Confusion

_DISCLAIMER_: I don't own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**The Truth**

Saturday 12th August

James Potter is in the hospital wing. Louisa Sarb says he has gone suicidal after the death of his parents, but what would that cow know. You don't think he has, do you? God, what if he is? What if he _dies?_

Sunday 13th August – early in the morning

I don't care about James Potter. 

Monday 14th August – late at night

I've just spent the last two days thinking about James Potter (still in the hospital wing), and even though I don't give a toss about him I was forced to go up and see him (natural curiosity and guilt over failure to notice his demise so far this term, you understand). Also I had to prove that Louisa Sarb was wrong. I had to get it off my chest. What if James Potter was suicidal? 

So late on Sunday afternoon, when I'd at last finished all my homework, I attempted to make it out of the common room undetected. Celine was immersed in her divination homework (a nasty subject I don't take, but Celine reckons she has a real flare for it), Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin were playing chess, and the rest of Gryffindor not weighed down with an unmanageable amount of homework were watching Sirius Black (who's outwardly over his grieving) perform astonishing 'improvements' on some cute little white rabbits. I hadn't counted on my most kindred of bosom friends.

"Where you off to, Lily?" asked Tory, as she passed me in a corridor.

"Oh, just getting a book I forgot at the library," I said. Did I mention that I am a very bad liar? She saw through me like I was a plate of glass. She smiled her sweet Tory-smile and said,

"Oh, good, you can tell me what's _really wrong with him," I stared at her and must have opened and shut my mouth at least five times before I put my nose in the air and marched past her and out through the portrait opening. What did I care if she thought I had secret feelings for the Potter boy? She is __wrong, and she'll realise it someday. _

I reached the hospital wing (presided over by the matronly nurse, Madame Pomfrey) and strolled nonchalantly in. I was gratified (although I don't know why I should have been) to find that no one else was about except for Potter, who was lying in the farthest white bed, leaning on his white pillows, and staring moodily out through the white frames of the his window. He didn't see me until I was close enough to see the white pyjamas he was wearing. 

"Hello, Potter," I said in what I imagined to be a casual voice. He looked startled to say the least. (After he'd worked out who I was, that is. His eyes don't seem too good without his glasses. Actually, that means he probably _wasn't__ staring out the window. He was probably just staring moodily into blurry space)._

"Evans!" he said. He looked very pale, and _very thin, even for him. His black hair was messed up, but not in the deliberate I-just-got-off-my-broom-aren't-I-dashing sort of way it usually is._

"To what do I owe the honour?" he grinned, almost succeeding in looking like his old flirtatious self. Strangely enough, I did not feel the urge to throw something large and solid at his head.

"I just thought I come to see what was really wrong with you," I said, cringing at my somewhat aggressive tone, "There's been some amazing rumours going around," I added,

"Oh, well, that was nice of you," said Potter, staring at me wonderingly, 

"But it's not because I've changed my mind about you or anything," I said quickly, "It's just that I've been feeling somewhat guilty, because I treated you the same as always, even though your – your – parents-"

"Are dead," he finished gravely. I sucked in a breath and nodded,

"Yes-"

"It's not that I'm not grateful, Evans, but I'm at a loss. Why the sudden change? I'm mean, I'm glad you're acknowledging my existence and all – and don't stop – but I wonder -" 

"Well you haven't been as horrible lately-"

"Thanks!"

"And Potter – I mean – I know you're really sad and all – but, I mean, it's no need to throw you're life away or anything," I blurted it all out quickly, and stared at him anxiously. I just _had to know. And he began to laugh. __Laugh. Slightly hollow laugh, true, but a laugh, and he was laughing at _me_,_

"You – you thought I tried to kill myself?" he asked, his eyes wide. I stared at him numbly, "Miss Evans – I mean – I just got a bad does of the _flu _– I mean to say – I wouldn't do something like _that_…" I stared at his smiling face, the blood pumping through my veins to my face. Awful, gut-wrenching embarrassment settled on my stomach like a stone. I was so completely and utterly mortified that I lost all the composure I so prided myself in and stupidly saw no other option than to flee from the hospital wing, my face literally radiating heat, and sit under a tree my the lake for the next two hours dwelling on my foolishness.

When I finally returned to the great hall for tea, having talked myself into believing that, after all, it hadn't been _that_ bad, and that after all, it was only James Potter, I was calm and collected and ready to face any immature little comments anyone chose to hurl at me. Ducks and water, I thought to myself, ducks and water. 

"And, two hours later, the adventurer emerges from her quest. The same, but perhaps different? What secret dealings did she have with-"

"Shut up, Celine," I said tranquilly,

"She'll tell us in her own time, won't you Lily?" said Tor (argh. Maybe's she's not so kindred)

"You'll both know that there's nothing to tell, if you have half a brain between you," I said snappily, causing them to smile conspiratorially at each other. I tiredly informed them of Potter's terrible bout of influenza and went up to the dormitory, not feeling up for a night of speculating about my future love life. 

_Why_ must people always read into things so deeply? I mean, I go to see how Potter is, and suddenly we're married with five kids. _Honestly._

Wednesday 16th of August

A list of things that happened today:

* James Potter got out of the hospital wing (I've been avoiding him ever since)

* Louisa Sarb fell off her broomstick at Quidditch practise and James Potter (the captain) yelled at her

* Queen Celine was given detention for doing an air guitar solo in Transfiguration

* Remus Lupin was given detention because Sirius Black told Professor Lalli (a very impressionable young women) that he had thrown a dung bomb into Severus Snape's cauldron.

* Tor remembered that she hadn't done her Charms Essay and had a panic attack

* Dumbledore (the headmaster) told me that I had to organise some kind of fundraiser for the war effort. (The war against the dark lord. Obviously)

* I realised that taking the following NEWT subjects was just plain idiocy on my part: Charms, Transfiguration, _Potions, _History of Magic,_ Arithmancy, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and __Astronomy. _

* The entire class realised that our Arithmancy teacher, Professor George, is in fact Gay. 

* Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had an all out brawl in Defense Against the Dark Arts

* Lina Matherson told Rebecca Scarlet (Ravenclaw) that she had a cauliflower nose, and it wasn't in all fun, for obvious reasons.

* All in all, tension was running high in the seventh year as we grasped the vastness of our homework crisis.

Friday 18th of August

The end of the week, at last. We get to spend the next two days catching up on what we couldn't possibly have done during the week! _Yay_!_  Diary, I'm going to give you the privilege of seeing _exactly _what I have to do this weekend. _

* Not one, but _two _transfiguration essays on large-scale transfigurations: one theory and one practical method

* Master the basics of charming your own quill to write what you're thinking (useful, but terribly difficult)

* A detailed history of the truth potion _Veritaserum_

* A diagram of the anatomy of a werewolf (we couldn't do that in class because that was when bloody Lupin decided to lose control and hurl himself bodily at Black. _Very _out of character if you ask me)

* Research the life of Bugbert Greeling, last commander of the 1278 Goblin Revolt

Obviously, I won't have time to think. On the upside, James Potter won't have time to think either, or confront me on my embarrassing behaviour last Sunday afternoon. Thankfully, Celine is more interested in who Professor George's boyfriend is than my imminent marriage to Potter. 

_Potter_

He's turning my life into a nightmare. He's been doing it since fourth year, in one way or another. Or even before that. Before that, I could cope with it, I mean the only thing he was doing was getting higher marks than I was. (I've always unconsciously aimed to beat him in everything, but it's not possible. He and his friends do well in everything. How? It is a mystery. They just don't _deserve that kind of intelligence). But then he began to take an interest in girls. _

I'm going to tell you a disgraceful secret, dear Diary, one that I haven't even told Tor or Celine. 

_James Potter is the only boy I've ever been kissed by_

Wait a second. I have to let the shame of it wash over me. 

Ok. It happened at the end of the fourth year, when Gryffindor had won the house quidditch tournament, and Potter was the Hero of the hour. He'd been carried around on people's shoulders for ages after the game, so I suppose even he needed a little relief afterward. He was slinking along a little used corridor (I was only there because Professor McGonagall had asked me to deliver a message to Lallie in the dungeons, and I had become somewhat lost), and I suppose he was just getting his breath back so he could join the festivities in the common room. He must have seen me before I saw him, because he was as cocky as ever and grinning widely, obviously thinking he was God's skinny, bespectacled gift to women. As usual he ran his hand through his hair to mess it up, and leaned invitingly on his broomstick. I was well known for my disgust of Potter's behaviour (especially in the Severus Snape-cursing department), so I just pretended he wasn't there. 

"Hi Evans," he said, trying to make his fourteen-year-old voice sound deeper than it was,

"Hello Potter," I said stiffly,

"You coming to the party?"

"No," I said, just to spite him.

"Aw," he said, stepping towards me, "Why not? Aren't you pleased we won?" I then made the mistake of looking into his face, and failed to notice it was slightly flushed. I just glared at him, unaware of the danger in my being so close. And then he just leaned across and did it. It wasn't wet or slobbery, or particularly violent, but the principle of the thing was horrible. To my shame, I stood frozen for a full second before I pulled away and hit him across the face with all the anger-power I had in me. 

He raised his hand to his face and stared at me, slightly dazed. Then he scowled and stormed off down the corridor, to repair his injured pride in the common room, no doubt.

That was only the beginning. From then on in, Potter seemed to make me his special conquest. I couldn't go a week without being asked out by him, and everyone but Celine thought I was mad to refuse. 

"Lily," said Celine, "If you think he's an arrogant pig, then he probably _is_ an arrogant pig." And so with the support from her majesty herself, I found it easy to turn down the insufferable big-head that circumstances had made Potter, and even found myself standing up for whiny young Slytherin Severus Snape who the Marauders had nick-name 'Snivellus', for obvious but quite vicious reasons. 

Severus Snape is to this day Potter's sworn enemy, and even I can't say much for him. Back in fifth year I though him a poor, misunderstood wretch without much hope, and I was right. At least now he has grown taller, and more able to stick up for himself, but he still has greasy black hair, a sallow face, and a temper to match. He is quite clever, but you can see from the way he hangs around with Slytherin's evilest (for want of a better word), that he's gone down the dark road and isn't likely to return. He certainly shares the Dark Lord's views, anyhow, and won't miss an opportunity to call me a mud blood (muggle born, you understand), and insult which seems to be, in the wizarding world, the lowest of the low. But since Snivellus _is the lowest of the low, it doesn't bother me unduly. _

So, after that little flashback into the past, have I realised any great truths? Nope, I don't think I have. I still have an inexplicable fear of facing Potter, and I still have a repulsive amount of homework. 

Yours Sincerely

Lily Evans

Monday 21st of August

I'm quite proud of myself. By working steadily for all of Saturday and half of Sunday, I managed to get every single piece of homework done (the quality of it all remains to be seen, of course). Talk about will power! Celine had to take short walks around the castle every half hour, claiming that she had very poor circulation and her legs would go to sleep, and possibly fall off, if she was to sit down for extended periods of time. Tor doesn't take as many subjects as me, but she still had a hefty quota, so she and I and Celine (at times) spent the day in the library, as it's against the rules for Tor to be in our common room. To be fair, we did take some breaks, in which Tory told us her dorm mate Rebecca Scarlet's side of the whole Lina Matherson/Rebecca Scarlet ongoing feud. It appeared that Miss Scarlet was planning to send a an accomplice (Eliane, I was willing to bet) into our dormitory and plant a foul smelling green hair dye in Lina's _Cat Carvel's Hair Conditioner bottle which was always lying conveniently on her bedside table. Another interesting piece of Ravenclaw news was that sixth year Elizabeth-Charlotte Teanly and seventh year Matthew Hindle had announced their engagement._

"He's even got her a ring," said Tor in hushed tones. __

Maybe I am cut out for this head girl lark, for I managed to suggest a chocolate drive (or a chocolate frog drive, to be exact) to Dumbledore yesterday as a way of making money for the aurors without involving Potter at all. (Hopefully he won't mind that I presented the chocolate idea in his name as well as mine). I'm going to organise for Honey Dukes in the wizarding town of Hogsmeade to deliver the chocolate (at half price!) nearing the end of term, and each person will take a box or two home to sell in the holidays. Dumbledore readily agreed, (he's rather fond of his lollies) and thanked me for showing such initiative. I fairly beamed with pleasure.  

Monday 28th of August

Sorry I'm so busy I can't find the time to write in my diary. Luckily I've managed to avoid Potter for another week, Professor George's boyfriend is called Douglas Winterton (?), Elizabeth-Charlotte and Matthew are still engaged, Sirius Black's brother Regulus Black (sixth year) ran away yesterday and there's a huge search on…

Yours Sincerely 

Lily Evans

Tuesday 30th of August

Regulus Black still hasn't been found. His Slytherin friends are saying they don't know anything about it, but when Potter publicly asked them in Astronomy yesterday, I could tell by the closed faces that they were lying. Sirius Black isn't worried, it's a well known fact that he hates his brother, and the other day I heard him whisper to Potter,

"He's probably gone to join them. I knew it'd happen soon enough. He's such a little idiot – would have been no point in finishing school…"

I tried not to think about the implications of this overheard conversation. Of course, the Black family are notorious for being conservative, and have links with the Malfoys, who are of course suspected deatheaters. It wouldn't surprise me if Regulus had gone away to work for the Dark Lord. This is obviously what Sirius is thinking. 

The threat of the Dark Lord is becoming more and more apparent as the school year goes by. He's always been there, of course, a looming threat, murdering people – mainly muggleborns and pure bloods who stood in his way – but since the death of the Potters, people have been more jittery about it than usual. I vaguely thought of making some encouraging speech, as Head Girl, but then I remembered that I'd have to ask Potter to join me, and I've got this irrational fear of doing that. It doesn't make any sense. I see Potter everyday, pretty much back to his own self, being loud and flirting, yet I can't bring myself to be my usual snappy self when it comes to him. So I make sure it _doesn't__ come to him. I wonder if he's noticed I've been avoiding him? Probably not, it looks like he's given up on me, really…_

Friday 2nd of September

Regulus hasn't turned up, and search seems to have died down a bit. It's the general consensus that he's run away to join the Dark Lord's legions, and the Ministry of Magic doesn't want to waste any more time on  him. 

Potter has a girlfriend. Her name's Shirley Rookwood. Why do I feel so empty?

Saturday 3rd of September 

Today was the first quidditch game of the season. Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Inevitably it was a rough match. To say the least. Louisa Sarb was knocked off her broom by the Slytherin chaser Steven Grotchen – and I actually felt sorry for her. Its amazing what a bit of house rivalry can make you feel for your fellow classmates. I've never experienced so much emotion at a quidditch match. By the end of it was screaming with the best of them, and when I yelled,

"_Foul_," because Jonathan Rick blatantly punched our Joseph Michael in the face, Tory's eyes grew wide as saucers and Celine put her arm around my shoulders and welcomed me into the world of the sports fan.  

When Gryffindor finally caught the snitch, after nearly three hours of battling it out, the crowd went wild, as if it were the grand final or something. Because the general populace weren't feeling all that kindly towards the Slytherins, three quarters of the Stadium lost their heads and began to do victory dances. Professor McGonagall only stopped when she caught Sirius Black watching her with a huge grin plastered across his face. I was so unnaturally charged up, I almost joined the pitch invasion with Celine and the others, only stopping when I caught sigh of James Potter, standing a little apart from the throng  - and holding Shirley Rookwood of Ravenclaw in his arms. His face was alight from the excitement of the game, and Shirley, (tall (almost taller than _him_), blonde, and willowy) was clutching at him like he might float away. For some reason, as I watched them kiss, I felt suddenly sick. I couldn't think why, I mean, I should be glad he's stopped paying attention to me…


	4. A Series Of Irritating Events

_DISCLAIMER_: I don't own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**A/N: **Thankyou _very, very much to all who reviewed. You made my day. And I've changed the dates, but I've confused myself in the process, so if they don't make sense, just ignore them… _

****

**The Truth**

****

_A SERIES OF IRRITATING EVENTS_

****

_Saturday 18th of October_

Dear Diary,

Another hectic week has been and gone, and I, in my copious spare time, find a minute to write to you. 

The Chocolate Drive has turned out to be a complete disaster. Remind me to not to use my initiative ever again. Firstly, on Tuesday I received an owl from Honeydukes informing me that I would be able to have _half _the required amount of chocolate by the end of term, but the rest would have to wait until next term. Feeling slightly annoyed, I wrote a hasty reply asking wether there was the slightest chance of a change in situation. _Then_ Potter approached me after breakfast on Wednesday (first time in weeks) and began to harass me about how he had had to hear the news about the Chocolate Drive from _Sirius_, who had overheard me talking to Dumbledore. I felt this was a bit much, and pushing aside all my previous embarrassments I told him coolly that I 'hadn't thought he'd have time to deal with this _too, what with Quidditch and his __cold, and his new __girlfriend.' Admittedly that last bit was rather harsh, but he seemed to take enormous offence to it, _

"Well I'd prefer it if in the future you told me when you were going to organise school events," he said in a positively angry tone, "After all, we are supposed to work as a _team_." I cordially agreed to this, not feeling up to fight, and rushed of to Defence Against the Dark Arts. The only good thing was that I now had a reason not to be talking to him. 

So now it is Saturday, and Honeydukes have not replied, and Potter is refusing to involve himself in the Chocolate Drive, even when I suggested that he might have more influence over Honeydukes than I have (I was red in the face and quite irritable but I did have to suggest it to him). Celine is in a funny mood, and is either moping around the dormitory of complaining about the teachers. In fact, I think she's affecting Tory and I. Without Celine bouncing around and making pointless comments about everything, it is hard for one not to go downhill from then on in. Hopefully it's to do with the bitingly cold weather we've been having, the kind that really sinks into your bones and stiffens your joints. It was particularly bad in Transfiguration yesterday, because Professor McGonagall believes in fresh air and insists on keeping the windows wide open (even with half the class coughing and spluttering). Celine was downright surly when she was asked why she hadn't begun her Transfiguration of her desk into a golden retriever. 

"My wand's screwed," she said in a low voice.

"What did you say?" barked Professor McGonagall,

"Nothing," said Celine insolently. I would see the word 'detention' forming on McGonagall's lips, but fortunately at that moment the bell rang and everyone stormed out of  the room to collect any extra jumpers and cloaks they hadn't thought they'd need.

Another thing to fluster me happened to day. Or rather, tonight. In the Gryffindor common room, I accidentally sat next to Remus Lupin (because I was thinking how odd it was that Celine had gone to bed early). I tried to ignore him, since I logically felt that if I wasn't talking to Potter, then I wasn't talking to Lupin. I mean, I've always thought that Lupin is a good enough sort in himself, but a bit of a wimp. You know, not much backbone. And he's friends with Black and Potter. I haven't quite forgiven him for all those times in fifth year when Black and Potter were venting their boredom on anyone who got up their noses and Lupin (a _prefect_) simply looked the other way. The vibe I get from him is that he's actually quite ashamed of this, so maybe that's why he never says much to me. Anyway, today I just concentrated on my potions homework, trying to appear confident and uninterested in whatever he wanted to say. 

"Hi Evans," he said after a while, and courtesy demanded that I turn to look at him. He's a small boy, shorter than me, and has a rather thin, ill-looking face and sandy hair. I could hardly shun him when he was looking so pathetic. 

"Hi," I said warily,

"You've been busy lately," he observed casually.

"Yes." I said, not being able to think of anything else to say.

"I've noticed you've been avoiding James-"

"Oh, you have, have you?" I said, losing all sympathy towards his sickly demeanour, "I don't know why you'd find that odd, I've been avoiding him for the past however many years -"

"No, I mean I thought you might be warming to him earlier this year-"

"Really? How silly of you-"

"I'm sorry -"

"Why? Why are you sorry?"

"Well…he really likes you, you know-"

"He has a girlfriend, Lupin," I said, glaring fiercely at him. He seemed to take the hint and gathered his books and left. What was his game? I didn't get it then, and I still don't get it. He's Potter's friend, but he was hardly acting in his best interests, was he? What business did he have telling _me_ that Potter likes me when he knows full well that Potter's going out with Shirley Rookwood? Maybe Lupin does have a few screws loose, like Lina Matherson is always saying. Or maybe he's performing the first phase of one of the Marauder's twisted little jokes…

_Wednesday 22nd of October_

Today Professor George resigned. He said it was for the best, and that although it pained him greatly to leave us, he was being called to find his true self. I wonder who our new Athrimancy teacher will be?

_Friday 24th of October_

I had a run-in with James Potter day. I really do think it topped the ever accumulating pile of run-ins with James Potter. It certainly startled Celine out of her lethargy. She is still stealing me starry-eyed glances and chuckling quietly to herself. I am glad that at least one of us is happy. I am wallowing in shame and self pity, and it is doubtful as to wether I will ever leave this dormitory ever again. 

I had been fuming all day about Potter, and I suppose our little clash in the evening popped the top so to speak. I had found out at breakfast that Potter (in a fit of revenge) had gone to Dumbledore over my head and was organising for the _Sparkle Sisters _(a troupe I've never even heard of who do some kind of acrobatic show – like a small circus I suppose) to come and perform at an end of term Christmas celebration. (The students get in at twenty sickles a head).  

"Since you're chocolate idea isn't really working," said Potter casually, "I just suggested this to Dumbledore instead, and he said it was fine. Don't you worry," he said condescendingly, "I've cancelled the deal with Honeydukes. I figured you wouldn't mind." Naturally I was speechless with rage, but I'm telling you, if looks could kill he'd have been a dead man. 

_It _happened at about seven o'clock when we were all sitting around in the common room, doing our homework, trying to get our fatigued muscles to sit upright or hold a quill, or staring into space. I wasn't doing much because I kept getting distracted by the shenanigans of Miss Rookwood (who's only a sixth year by the way), and Potter (the cradle snatcher). Celine could see me getting more and more irritated, but of course she just ignored it and smiled the first smile I'd seen in days. 

"Wow, Celine. You _haven't _been zombified," said Sirius Black.

Then Shirley Rookwood said,

"Oh, _James_, you're so _fit,_ just _look at these muscles!" (Or something to that effect) and I thought, 'What muscles? He's a scrawny little ****' and then Potter said,_

"Oh, you know, all that Quidditch I do-" (Quidditch? How can you get muscles from riding around on a broomstick all day?)

"I just love you're hair, Jamsie," she giggled, (Jamesie?), and that was when I snapped,

"Oh, will you two just give it a rest!" and they both stared at me, Rookwood's lovely eyes wide and angry. 

"Yeah?" said Potter lazily, "Why should we?"

"Because _some_ people are trying to work!" Yes, that's right, Potter is probably the only person who can stop me from thinking before I speak. I was basically setting myself up.

"Oh, _are_ they? You're probably the only one, Evans – look around," he said in a slightly more heated tone. I chose not to look around and see that he was right. At the corner of my eye I saw Black and Celine looking on with interest. 

"Well, _you _should be, I mean with all the time you spend planning your petty revenge," I said, angling away from my previous attack. Potter disentangled himself from a scandalised Rookwood and rose to his feet. 

"Well, _you're _the one who started it, not telling me about the chocolate drive. Too embarrassed to face me after your little outburst of pity, were you?" he practically yelled. That stung, I have to say. But I still knew he was only bluffing, because how could he _know _that's what I was thinking? The little voice in my head that usually tells me to back down from arguments like his one told me that it was because he knew I wasn't naturally spiteful or mean, but for once I ignored it and snapped back,

"I already _told_ you that I thought you were to _busy _with Miss Rookwood here to care about things like the chocolate drive. I mean you wouldn't want her to think you were _leading her on or anything, would you?" I couldn't believe the things coming out of my mouth. Even though we both knew my words were empty, Potter was livid, and an angry flush had risen on his face; he looked fit to kill,_

"That's out of order, Evans, that's bloody-"

"Is it? Didn't you tell poor Shirley about how long you were with all your other girlfriends? Or about that time with Millie Treacle?" I really got him with that one. I'm one of the few people in the school who know the truth about the end of the Millie Treacle affair. Potter doesn't like to talk about it much. (Let's just say Miss Treacle _not end upa happy camper and leave it at that, shall we?)_

"You wouldn't," said Potter softly, deadly calm, "That's in the past!" I suddenly became horribly aware of the scene I was making. Would I ever again be the respected member of the student body I had been? I looked at Rookwood's confused face, at Black's astonished one and almost gave a sob. I stood stock still and turned back to Potter, unable to say anything else. He glared back at me, leaning forward until our noses almost touched,

"I know what this is all about," he said so that only I could hear, "You're just-" but he never got to finish his sentence, because at that moment someone gave an almighty shriek and the room broke into pandemonium. 

I later found out from Celine, (in the dormitory, which I had run to as soon as Potter was distracted) that Margaret Killery of second year had accidentally stood on the pressure point that released the net of invisible dung bombs that had been suspended from the roof by Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black.

"You'll have to find a less easy-to-find area for the trigger next time," Potter was reputed to have ruefully told his friends.

_Thursday 23rd of October_

Today I slunk shamefully out of the dormitory and down to the Great Hall very early, and grabbed some toast before anyone else had come down. I ate it under the shade of one of those wonderful willow trees that sweep the ground and are completely impenetrable to the human eye. Of course, I knew that I'd have to show myself, probably sooner rather than later, but I was determined not to face the world for as long as possible. Thankfully I had a study period first off and didn't have to talk to anyone. Tor found me in the library at lunch time and tried to convince me that I had to eat something. I told that even I wouldn't risk being symbolically torn to shreds by every Gryffindor who was present last night for a ham and cheese sandwich. Then she told me not to be a stupid idiot (strong language for Tor) and that if I didn't come down right now she'd tell the whole school that Lily Evans had been forced into hiding by James Potter. I told her that the whole school probably already knew that, and she told me that I was being dramatic and that of course no one even cared. I had mixed feelings over this last bit, but I agreed to go down to lunch. 

"Hey Evans. Come to give old Potter a taste of you're tongue again?" said Sirius Black after I'd been in the Great Hall for a grand total of about four seconds. Pettigrew laughed, and Lina, Louisa and Theresa twittered. 

"I had a very emotional day yesterday, and I assure you there will be no more outbursts from me," I said, trying to sound dignified. Thankfully, Potter himself didn't say anything, but sat as far away from me as possible. 

To my relief, Tor had been partly right: no one but my dear friends in Seventh Year Gryffindor seemed to know or care about my conflict with Potter. I suppose I have Black and Pettigrew to thank for that, for stealing my limelight and preventing Potter from saying anything to further incense me. Potter didn't speak to me all day, and was unusually surly to everyone.

"I'd say you've really got up his arse," said Celine appreciatively, when Potter told Professor Flitwick and Eggy Crilmer that they could both take their stupid Charms Club and shove it. This was not the kind of comment that was going to make me feel any better, so after tea I went and sat with Tory in the library to hear her reassure me that Potter was in the wrong and that I had simply overreacted slightly. The reason I'm writing now is because I can't stand to lie in bed and listen to Lina and Louisa talk about Elizabeth-Charlotte Teanly and Matthew Hindle's first tiff and the fact that Ivy Sheely of Slytherin has died her hair purple and got her nose pierced. I just don't _care _about what Professor McGonagall is going to say when she sees it. 

Oh, and one more thing. I found out why Celine's been so weird lately. I can't believe she didn't tell me when the actual crisis was taking place. But that's Celine for you – she'll be all depressed, not tell you what's wrong, resolve the issue and then have a good laugh about it later. Obviously after my awe inspiring outburst to Potter she considered me worthy enough to share her thoughts with. This time, it was to do with Toby Hollylake. Toby has been Celine's 'boyfriend' (most of the time) for the past three years and I can safely say that he absolutely adores everything about her, from the top of her ruddy head to the tips of her purple nail polished toes. Toby is a very tall gangly lad with brown hair and nice eyes, and a sweetness that sometimes comes across as downright stupidity. Although I know that secretly Celine returns his affections whole heartedly, she doesn't like to show it and is prone to making comments like, 'Oh, yes, boys. They act all nice to lull you into a false sense of security, then they use you, then they dump you like a ton of bricks.' As Celine herself has never had such an experience in her life, Tory and I don't take much notice of her. Poor Toby, however, has endured a frightful amount of teasing, shunning and heartbreak – though this does not seem to dim his great love. (I'm making something clear now: the story of Celine and Toby has absolutely _no parallels to anything related to Potter, as certain nameless persons have implied). I've often told Celine that he deserves more, but she brushes me off flippantly. _

Anyway, according to Celine, a week ago Toby announced that he'd had enough (after a particularly hard ribbing about him being a Hufflepuff.) and became angry with Celine for the first time either of them could remember. Celine apparently stood staring after him for a full five minutes, and began to realise just how much she loved him, hence the sour mood all this week when all was lost and she couldn't for the life of her think what she was going to tell her mother (who is convinced that Toby is 'the one'). But all is now as it should be, for while I was hiding in the library, Celine approached young Toby and in her words, 'brought him round', and in Tor's words 'apologised profusely and begged for forgiveness'. He off course forgave her readily, but showed considerable strength of mind by reminding Celine that he needed to be more appreciated in the future. So they kissed and made up, and remarks like 'Well count yourself lucky, _I'm _dating a Hufflepuff,' will probably not be heard in our dormitory for quite a long time. 

_Friday 31st of October_

Still no contact with Potter. The talk died down pretty quickly once people realised there were going to be no more follow up fights. Potter has presumably been organising the _Sparkle Sisters_ behind my back, but quite frankly I couldn't give a stuff. This week's been pretty dull, because Celine's been spending a lot of time with Mr Hollylake (which I don't begrudge them) to make up for her past errors, and Tory's had to go home because her little sister Doris is sick, her father's working, and her mother can't cope with a sick child as well as four mischievous healthy ones. I've been sitting with Eliane unspellable in my classes without Celine, and it's a tad tedious since a lot of the conversation revolves around how horrible Lina Matherson is. (Her nasty _bobbed _hair has _nits, she has the personality of a __cane toad, she __bashes her little brothers etc.) Even worse is that when I simply can't stand to sit with the girl a minute longer, Eggy Crilmer, Sirius Black or Louisa Sarb are always on hand to regale me with whatever's on their minds (Charms club, Black's famous giant motorbike with alloy hubcaps, quidditch, how horrible Eliane is). Another bugger is that we've been given our new Athrimancy teacher. A typical old dragon right from the story books. She has curly grey hair, glasses, a voice like a squeaky gate and will not tolerate the slightest sound in any class. She even has the skill to intimidate Sirius Black, no mean feat, and her name is Professor Fangmorton. _

The only highlight of the week is that I got my Charms topic test back and I got _full marks_. Beat Potter and Black by at least five percent, so I'm feeling fine – for the few seconds in each day when there are no other thoughts in my head except how good I am at charms. 

_Wednesday 5th November_

Right. Only, what, almost two months to Christmas? I really am counting the days, even though it means I have to go home and listen to the despised sister's lamentations about the flowers that will be at her wedding (she wanted _sunflowers_, heaven knows why, but had to settle for white roses). But it'll be ok, because apart from the bride's maid's dress that mum's insisting I wear (the D.S didn't want me as a bride's maid, but she knew she wouldn't get away with it), I'll be able to invite Celine and Toby over so we can listen to The Beatles at full blast and annoy the hell out of the despised boyfriend (Vernon Dursley's his name, _drills are his game)._

 Today I have to work out how to transfigure my regulation filing cabinet into a beaver, and write down the method to perform tomorrow. Wish me luck!


	5. Rabid Rats and Cricket Bats

_DISCLAIMER_: I don't own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**The Truth**

_RABID RATS AND CRICKET BATS_

_Friday 14th of November_

Today was an interesting day for a number of reasons. Firstly, James Potter made some sort of desperate attempt at an apology for our argument of three weeks ago this afternoon in Charms when he thought no one would hear him. Little did he know that Celine and Louisa Sarb were standing right behind him with expressions of interest on their faces. I decided not to enlighten him, and simply met his hazel glare with cold dignity. 

"I suppose I ought to – well you know – _apologise for before," he said in a gruff whisper, glancing around nervously. I nodded curtly, but I was damned if I was going to say anything – I mean, was it my fault that Potter and his gormless girlfriend wanted to parade their furious desire for each other all over the common room (as you can see, the incident is sadly still fresh in my mind for some reason). My silence seemed to be taken as a refusal._

"Well _you _were just as rude as me, Evans," hissed Potter, picking up steam, "You were just as in the wrong," (I had no idea our little altercation had had such an effect on him). He seemed anxious to make his point, and I had the wondrous notion that Potter was actually feeling _guilty_.

"All right," I said abruptly, not wanting another scene, "You're forgiven, I'm sorry too, please go." (I've never used such clipped language. Interesting), I could see Queen Celine with the beginnings of a smirk on her face and Louisa with her ears pricked. In fact, I've never before noticed how pointy Louisa Sarb's ears are. 

"_You're _sorry?" insisted Potter, curiously eager to prolong the interaction.

"_Yes._" I said, "Happy? I don't know why you're bothering, Potter, or why you should be sorry. You never have been before," I was surprised at my own hatefulness. 

"Yeah? Well, maybe I've changed," he said, and returned to his desk beside Sirius Black. Louisa and Celine raised their eyebrows at me, and I shrugged.

Later, Celine, Tory and I sat doing our homework in the library. We had the desk to ourselves, and not much work was being done. 

"That was nice little 'sorry' you got from Potter today, Lily," said Celine during a thoughtful silence. 

"Er-"

"Oh, _did_ he?" whispered Tor excitedly,

"Yes, but-"

"But she's still mad at him, aren't you Lily?" interrupted Celine lazily, "She told him to bugger off," she said, patting Tor's arm confidentially. 

"Oh, Lily," said Tory despairingly, "His first real act of humility and you didn't accept him!" Her dark eyes were almost tearful. I didn't know what she was going on about, but it sounded idiotic.

"Act of humility? He was just getting me off his conscience-"

"But that's just _it _Lily, he _has _a conscience!"

"Tory-"

"I'd go for it Lily," said Celine seriously, "I think this is as good as he's going to get without real help-"

"_What_ are you talking about?"  And these people dare to call themselves friends? 

"We're just saying, Lily," said Tory peaceably, "That, well, you know how you've always said he's an arrogant prat and all, well, it might just be that he _has_ redeemed himself! This might be the beginning of a new and better Potter!" Tory's hands were clasped in front of her, as if describing some great wonder the modern world. 

"The death of his parents, the responsibilities of a school leader, his approach to adulthood – they must have given him some kind of revelation-"

"He just said sorry for fighting with me in the common room," I said firmly before she got too carried a way, "And it does not mean _anything. I'll admit I did think he'd changed a bit this year – but Shirley Rookwood has changed my mind. You two are light-headed from work over-load," and I gathered up my things and strode away. As I reached the library door, Celine called out to me,_

"Potter broke up with Rookwood last week, you know."

_Saturday 15th of November_

I found out the whole Potter/Rookwood break-up story early this morning. Celine and Theresa Grey were sleeping in, Louisa Sarb was at quidditch practise, and Eliane was on detention (for placing a certain liquid in a certain person's hair conditioner two weeks ago). So it was just me and Lina Matherson in the dormitory (apart from the two sleepers, of course), and the perfect chance came to extract some gossip from the gossip-queen herself. I don't usually make a practise of spending too much time conversing with the likes of Lina Matherson, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and Celine's last words in the library yesterday had been nagging at me all night. 

"You _don't _know what happened?" said Lina sharply, pausing for a moment in the filing of her nails. 

"No," I said patiently.

"Oh, well, I thought _everyone_ knew. I always say you spend far too much time studying, Lily, I mean as Head Girl you need to know what's going on in your house,"

"Yes," I said, ignoring the ludicrous nature of her remark.

"Well anyway, it happened last week, on Thursday (I don't know _how _you could have missed it), when James and Sirius were playing some card game in the corner, and Shirley went over to them, and I don't know exactly what _she said, but James said,_

'Sorry, Shirley, I'm busy,' and then she said 'But _James, it's a __Hogsmeade__ weekend,' and then he said (quite politely, __I think), 'I'm sorry, but I really am busy,' and then she started going on about how that weekend was going to mean so much to her, and how could he let her down. But he was pretty firm about it, and he didn't yell at her or anything until she said something like, 'well you'll just have to choose between me and whatever it is that you're doing', and she cried quite a lot, and James told her that he didn't have to  be with her twenty four hours a day. She screamed and cried a bit more, and then ran off to the dormitory. They haven't been speaking since," finished Lina casually. She leaned forward, "But _I _think he never really liked her anyway, because he was quite calm about the whole thing. She's just such a bimbo." Struggling to keep a straight face at this last bit, I thanked her for her time, turned down the offer of a manicure and left the dormitory. So __this was what had prompted Potter's odd behaviour. He'd become bored with Shirley and was back on my case. I might have known. I wondered vaguely how I could have failed to notice such an important event in the Hogwart's social network. Just goes to show how little I take in, doesn't it? But I supposed I was so angry at the pair of them that I wouldn't have realised if they'd become punk rock stars overnight. Still, I think I might remember the night in question, because earlier day Professor McGonagall let down her guard and allowed us to shut the windows while in class. The other odd thing about that night was the rat. I mean, you might think that there's nothing odd about a small dark-grey rat making its way across the common room floor in an old castle, but I did, because Hogwart's, though it is many things, is __not a rat infested institution. I noticed it going into the boys dormitory, and I my first impulse was to warn them, my second to leave it because I was feeling spiteful. I told a half-asleep Celine about it when I got to my own dormitory, _

"'S prob'ly rabid," was all she said.

_Saturday 22nd of November_

thIngs thAt hAppEnEd tOdAy pArt twO:

*There _wasn't__ a quidditch match. This week's exciting Slytherin versus Ravenclaw (I wasn't planning to go anyway) has been postponed until next week due to the arrival of some ministry official (I don't know anything else about it) and the Captains are still fuming._

*Potter tried to apologise again but Black and Lupin tipped pumpkin juice over Tor and Celine (who were sitting next me) at the most inopportune moment and I took it out on Potter and have maturely started another feud. (I really can't help myself this year. I must be going for a record or something!)

*Only thirty-two more days till Christmas!

*Eliane and Lina Matherson had a catfight in the Great Hall at breakfast and McGonagall put them both on detention. Together.

*Rebecca Teanly is sick in the hospital wing and Matthew Hindle hasn't left her side since (except to go to the toilet, presumably). Isn't it romantic?

*Mother sent me a letter. With the letter was chocolate. Wasn't that nice of her? Oh, yes, and the despised sister's wedding is scheduled for the middle of next term. Do they want me to fail school or something? I'll have to take two full days off _just_ to go to her wedding. I ask you!

*I have four essays and a transfiguration method due on Monday!

*Professor Lallie tripped down the stairs (Dumbledore _has _warned her about those bright, billowy, triple layered, more than floor-length robes she likes to wear) and broke her ankle in eighteen places. We'll be having Miss Fangmorton for potions _as well as arithmancy until she's out of the hospital wing! What cruel and unusual punishment will come next?_

_Saturday 29th of November_

Gee, I'm getting into a habit of writing on Saturdays, aren't I? suppose it's the ever-increasing workload. I'll give you an example of your average seventh year classroom:

Teacher: Do this

You: Ok

Teacher: That's not good enough do it again

You: Ok

Teacher: *Goes on for the whole lesson so you are forced to get it exactly right*

You: Ok

Teacher: Ok, now you have an almost but not quite impossible amount of homework to do. Have fun!

I'm also actually having a huge fight with Celine at the moment, so that adds to the pressure. We haven't spoken since Wednesday when she told me to loosen up and stop being such a nerd because I was no fun to be around anymore. I told her that maybe if she worked on her gold-fish attention span maybe she wouldn't be feeling so jealous. Trying to do the right thing, as always, Tory has refused to take sides. She has succeeded in angering both of us just enough so that she receives the cold shoulder from all parties. Poor fool. 

_Saturday 6th of December_

It's Diary time again! It's also December. I _love_ December. It just makes me happy. This is because of Christmas, and it is also because my Birthday is two days after Christmas, and I like my Birthday. I'll be seventeen (and legally able to apparate and use magic at home! The D.S won't know what hit her! Literally!). Call me a child, but I can still get that little thrill of waking up on Christmas morning and finding the lounge room laden with presents and snow falling outside (hopefully). The only downer is the older I get, the less presents I'm likely to receive (not that this is all I think of. Christmas is a time of love and care and being with your family). With luck the Great Aunts and various far flung and obscure relatives will not yet count me as an adult in the shopping activities. I also love Christmas because it _is the only time the far flung relatives are together under one roof. I just like the atmosphere (I realise this isn't a particularly teenagerish sentiment). _

Another reason why I'm happy is that it's a Hogsmeade weekend and I'm friends with Celine again. Our little quarrel ended when we found ourselves united against a common enemy. All it took was for Sirius Black (upon witnessing small tantrums on both our parts) to say,

"Ooh, look, the red nuts have finally cracked," and the bonds of friendship were whole again, as if our disagreement had never been. After treating Black to a scathing and imaginative tirade, we laughed harder than we had in a long time, and I even deigned to listen to Celine's loud rendition of _Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds_. Sometimes that Black boy really does prove himself an invaluable member of society. Today Celine, Tory and I went to Hogsmeade and I doubt we could have had anymore fun had we been innocent third years experiencing their first taste of freedom away from the shackles of boarding school life.

_Wednesday 10th of December_

I'm not feeling nearly so happy as last time I wrote.  The end of term is approaching. In eight days time, the _Sparkle Sisters_ will be arriving to perform from six O'clock to eight o'clock. This I know because Potter told me in History of Magic (costing him a sharp reprimand from Professor Binns). I must admit I had forgotten about the entire fundraising fiasco until now. I was on a Christmas Season high, I suppose.  

"Will you be coming to the performance?" asked Potter politely after HOM (hom. I like it. homity hom hom…)

"Performance?" I asked distantly,

"You know, the _Sparkle Sisters,"_ said Potter patiently. Realising that I wasn't really on track with what he was saying, (that's what Hom does to you) I stalled for time,

"How many of them are sisters?" I asked. Potter raised his eyebrows,

"Umm, I think three of them are triplets and the rest are just employees,"

"Oh," I said inadequately,

"Yes. Are you coming?" he asked again. I wondered why he even bothered; he knew how I felt about the _Sparkle Sisters._

"I suppose so," I said surprisingly. Perhaps the nerves that controlled the messages that run from my brain to my vocal chords and mouth had met with some kind of anatomic traffic jam and got confused along the way. 

"Oh good," said Potter quickly, before I could change my mind, "Dumbledore'll expect you to be there anyway, and it should be quite spectacular,"

"Ah," I said as Potter hurried away. I walked to the Great Hall, dimly aware that I hadn't contributed at all to the fundraising activities, in the end. 

_Friday 12th of December_

There was defiantly something odd in the air today. Not that there was much air. It was a decidedly balmy winter's day, and not a breath of wind stirred the darkened eaves of the Forbidden Forest. It was a pleasant change from the bitter cold of previous weeks. In the afternoon, after our last class had finished and we had a free study period, Celine, Tory and I were sitting under a tree by the lake and eating Mrs Varaten's best homemade chocolate double-decker mud cake with cream in the middle, because it was Tory's birthday and we weren't feeling fat. Every now and then Celine would burst in to song,

_Happy Birthday to you, You're a hundred and two, You smell like a monkey, And you look like one too_

Tory would ignore her, in no mood because she had already been forced to kiss the nearest boy (Peter Pettigrew) earlier, when she cut the cake and brought the knife out dirty. Celine had managed to convince her that this was necessary because the cake _had _been made by _her mother and Tory __owed it to Celine. At least Peter came out of it happy. _

When we had demolished most of the cake, other Seventh years in our class began to come out onto the grounds, spreading out into some kind of formation. The three of us stared, mouths open, wondering fearfully if the stress of NEWTS had finally permanently effected the minds of our classmates and they were going to perform some obscene ritual. Theresa Grey looked slightly jittery, and I wondered if she was to be the sacrifice. I had no idea what they were doing until I spotted Darren Kalding and Hamish Branden demonstrating their fencing skills with two tacky old cricket bats. I sighed with relief. They were only going to have a game of cricket. Although this is quite strange in itself. Never in the History of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (as far as I know) has there been an organised mass migration of students to the quidditch pitch in order to play a friendly cricket match. Cricket is one of the few muggle sports that has caught on in the wizarding world (although a typical wizarding match usually involves a lot more alcohol and a lot less expertise), although I wasn't aware that the cricketing spirit was so alive and well in the halls of Hogwarts. Celine was the first person to say anything,

"_Cool_. Let's go play," she said, grabbing our hands and attempting to haul us over to the pitch with the sheer weight of her personality. I struggled helplessly for a minute, trying to articulate that anything with Potter and his associates involved could not possibly end well. But I had no choice, I was being _ordered _to play. I just hoped no one had thought to bring any beer. I didn't feel up to confiscating anything; the day had been going so _well. Sighing I let myself be propelled over and have my name written down on the batting list (I was last. Shows how much faith they have in me). After some deliberation it had been decided that the teams would be primarily Gryffindor against Slytherin, (It nearly went the way of girls against boys, heaven forbid) and any spare Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs would be divided equally between the teams. My heart sank at this pronouncement, for with this arrangement the game was almost certain to get vicious, especially since Snivellus Snape had first bowl and Potter first bat. _

But, as it turned out, my fears were unfounded. Not one alcoholic beverage was seen in the vicinity, and apart from a few spiteful Gryffindor/Slytherin insulting spats, the game was actually quite peaceful. There was much laughter and merrymaking, as they say. _Quite _odd. I was so engrossed in watching Hamish and Darren argue good-naturedly about the correct place to stand in order to field the ball, I didn't realise it was my turn to bat. 

"Earth to Evans, come in Evans," called Celine and Sirius Black in unison.

"Oh, sorry," I said, slightly flustered. Striding over to the wicket, I was glad of my backyard family cricketing experience. I stood grinning across at the Ravenclaw bowler, tensed and ready for action. And I hit a six. And the crowd went wild! Well, slightly wild anyway. They at least cheered. 

"Huzzah!" yelled Potter,

"That's my girl!" shouted Celine,

"This calls for Firewhisky!" bellowed Black. 

I got out on my next hit, but I didn't particularly mind. Now I could stand in the sun and laugh at the Slytherins while pretending to field. And do you know what? It turns out that Peter Pettigrew can bowl a mean spinner.


	6. Not Really the Real Thing

_DISCLAIMER_: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**The Truth**

****

_NOT REALLY THE REAL THING_

****

_Friday 19th of December_

Ok, the time is exactly 3:34:36 in the morning, and everyone has just gone to sleep after a long and eventful last day of school. I can hear each of them breathing: Celine slow and quiet, Theresa snoring, Lina restless and quick, Louisa coughing now and then. I can't hear Eliane, of course, because she went home early for the holidays. 

The last day of term was muddled and mostly pointless, as last days often are. Technically, we had normal classes, but all of them had a Christmassy feel to them. Even Professor McGonagall could not make the class work and could even be seen joining in the festivities if you looked hard enough. Many a Christmas fire-cracker was let off, and many a blind eye was turned. I guess with the looming threat of Lord Voldemort, the teachers felt we deserved a break. In Potions Professor Lallie led us in round upon round of Christmas carols, and many of us, (Queen Celine and Sirius Black, to name a few) joined in whole-heartedly, while others of us (Tor and I, chiefly) preferred to watch and laugh in an embarrassed sort of way when, in a particularly raucous rendition of _The Twelve Days of Christmas¸ some of the more energetic students among us decided to dance upon the desks arm in arm. There is something unsettling about people dancing in dungeons, but I don't know what it is. The class really did take a dip into childhood during those wonderful sixty-five minutes. _

Another highlight of the day was the unexpected return of Professor Dupinkay, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It is just like him to arrive back on the last day of term under the impression that he'll actually be able to teach us anything. He paraded enthusiastically into the room, starry pointed hat askew, leading behind him an impressive and heavily muzzled minotaur-calf, or whatever word you use to describe a baby minotaur. We all stared at him in astonishment, and those who'd been in the middle of letting off some firework or another paused in their pursuits. Dupinkay pushed his greying chestnut hair off his face and even had the grace to blush. We did have a good look at the magical creature, but I'd safely say that we didn't actually learn anything useful about it. Professor Dupinkay promised he'd bring it back next term and give a proper lesson. Today he simply gave us a full account of his trip to Switzerland. Apparently his daughter, Martina, has had a child, a little girl who is just the most beautiful creature we ever saw, (Or didn't see, or whatever). Professor Dupinkay is worried, however, about his daughter's husband (Arnold), who he thinks is quite unreliable and harebrained at the best of times. If Professor Dupinkay (who will travel to the other side of the world at the drop of a hat without so much as a by-your-leave to hunt down some rare species) thinks Arnold is unreliable and harebrained, than he must be pretty bad. Anyway, I'm glad Dupinkay is back, I don't think I could bear any more substitutes. 

At lunchtime today I remember the _Sparkle Sisters again. This led me to remember that I had acted quite childishly in regard to this matter. And _this_ led me to remember that I had told Potter that I would be attending the performance. I would have sworn into my tomato soup, had I been the swearing type. Instead I thumped the table so hard that the orange juice tipped over and spread quickly down the table, causing squeals and shouts to erupt from those who'd had some extra flavouring added to their lunches. Then, to my horror, when I tried to clean it up with the _Scourgify_ spell, I succeeded in obliterating several people's meals in the process. I apologised profusely and was met with looks of irritation and contempt. As you can imagine, I left the Great Hall pretty quick sharp. _

The evening came around all too quickly. At five o'clock (after I had been staring into space for nearly half an hour) Celine poured cold water down my back and told me I had to get ready for the performance. 

"It's only five o'clock," I said, "It doesn't start until six thirty,"

"Yes, I know," said Celine condescendingly, "But you'll probably get unchanged again a couple of times in the next hour when you decide you don't want to go anymore," 

"_What_?" I asked furiously.

"Well, _Potter_ will be there, and he _did _organise it without you-"

"What has that to do with-"

"And naturally, you're terribly embarrassed about the way you behaved, because really, he was only getting you back for what you did to him," continued Celine calmly, "But you said you'd go, so you have to. Now go get dressed."

"I _hate _you, Celine," I said venomously.

"And you're a darling too, Lily. You know I'm right!" she drifted serenely out of the room. Probably to have a pashing session with Toby, I thought snidely. 

As it turned out, Celine was wrong, much to my satisfaction. I didn't get dressed until a quarter past six, and I was set in my decision and not in the least nervous. They didn't make me head girl for nothing. According to everyone else, the _Sparkle Sisters performance was an occasion to which one wears one's dress robes. As head girl I could hardly go in anything less. Although I don't particularly like my dress robes (they're a shiny greenish-bluish colour), at least I fitted in. Unable to find Celine, I walked down to the magically transformed Great Hall with Tory, who was dressed in deep purple and looked quite mysterious and beautiful, I thought. The Great Hall was filled with cushioned, orange coloured seats, all facing a makeshift stage which was covered in decorations of red, orange and yellow, and tiny flashing lights. I managed to persuade Tory to sit at the back with me, in the hope that I would not be noticed by any of the marauders. There was no such luck, of course. Sirius Black, resplendent in indigo dress robes, emerged from the mingling crowd, grinning from ear to ear.   _

"Evans, you made it," he said, trying to be suave. 

"Yes," I said blushing slightly, 

"Ah, you blush so prettily, my dear," said Black with a smile, "It is such a shame Mr Potter isn't here to see it!" That got the required glare out of me,

"And the light in your eyes! Like emeralds! They take my very breath awa-"

"Shut up, Black," I snapped, 

"Sorry. I was just teasing," he said in a surprisingly serious voice. To my dismay, he plonked himself down next to Tory and I, leaning back with a sigh. Tor glanced at me, her mouth turned up slightly. I looked around the Great Hall, spotting two other members of the Awesome Foursome. Potter was talking rapidly to a tall women in a spangly silver leotard, and Pettigrew was in deep conversation with a Hufflepuff fourth year I though might be called Thomas Walsh. 

"It should have started by now, shouldn't it?" I asked Tory. I didn't expect her to reply, I just felt uncomfortable with Black sitting there so casually like that. Suddenly Remus Lupin arrived, managing to look even more pale and sickly than ever. I think it must have been his bright green robes emphasising his washed out skin.

"Are you alright?" I asked, more out of curiosity than actual concern.

"Yeah," he said unsmilingly. He turned to Black, "Padfoot, can I talk to you for a moment?" He asked. I wrinkled my nose as the two of them wandered off. 

"Don't you just hate it when they use those stupid nicknames?" I said to Tory. She looked thoughtful,

"Well…you know, I suppose they have some meaning. What's Potter's one again? Oh yes, 'Prongs', kind of cute, don't you think?" she asked, her eyes full of mischief,

"It is _not_ cute. It's just childish-" I stopped mid-sentence, realising I had was in the process of being wound up. Seems I can't rely on _anyone not to tease me. Even sweet Tor can't help herself. It isn't that I mind Marauder nicknames __that much, but they do remind me of those  little 'clubs' children are so fond of creating, where they have a secret password, and only certain people are allowed to join. I guess I'm still hung up on bitter primary school experiences, but still. __Why would Potter be called 'Prongs'? Black seems be 'Padfoot', and Lupin is 'Moony'. I had thought they were calling Pettigrew after a fictional character from Tolkien's _The Lord of the Rings_, but it's actually 'Wormtail', not 'Wormtongue', which makes even less sense than I first thought. _

The performance did not start until seven o'clock in the end, so Celine needn't have worried her silly head about me (it turned out she _was with Toby. They didn't arrive until well after seven). It was pretty good, I have to admit, even though it pained me to think that Potter had such good organisational skills. The_ Sparkle Sisters_ were three girls, aged around twenty-two. Their names were Elicia, Eleanor and Cassandra, and they each had a mop of silvery hair, purple eyes and incredibly flexible bodies. There was also a fire-eater/juggler/clown type in the troupe named Feste, who had a face like a potato and very quick reflexes. He could juggle the usual balls, batons and fiery torches as well as six huge carving knives and a small girl (Juliet) who also had silver hair, and I took to be a fourth __Sparkle Sister, or perhaps a cousin or daughter. The troupe also included three expert 'magicians' who performed astonishing magical stunts. The SS's themselves were amazing acrobats as well as being skilled in the art of Witchcraft. The show went off without a hitch, and Tory and I decided that it was about a young girl's (Cassandra's) journey though some kind of fairy land. It didn't really matter, anyway, because it was so spectacular. The audience loved it, and I don't think anyone begrudged their twenty sickles (some of which will be going to charity, some to the SS's). By the end I was feeling happy and content. Tory, Celine, Toby and I wandered out into the entrance hall in hight spirits. As I saw Lupin walk past I wondered fleetingly what he had wanted to talk to Black about. _

"Those performers were amazing," said Tory,

"Yeah," said Celine appreciatively, "I especially liked Eleanor,"

"How could you especially like Eleanor? They all looked the same!" I said, rolling my eyes.

"I just did," said Celine ambiguously, sliding her arm around Toby's waist. 

"Well I liked Feste," said Toby in his quiet voice,

"Oh, that was just because he was the only male in the group," Celine scoffed,

"He was pretty good with those knives," said Tory placatingly.

"It's all just practise, you know,"

"Like everything,"

"But Feste had real _skill,"_

"Even _muggles_ can juggle!"

"Hey!"

"Oh, sorry Lily-"

"Celine, he was juggling knives and a living _child!"_

"He was a very good performer!"

Suddenly (this is eleven o'clock at night, let's not forget) Sirius Black came hurtling out of the darkness like a bolt of lightning,

"Race you to the common room!" he called wildly, longish black hair streaming behind him. For some incompressible reason my hitherto wholly sane walking companions were seized with a fit of mad energy and they all sprinted off after him, shouting and screaming like loons (even Tory, and she isn't even _in _Gryffindor!). I shook my head in bewilderment and continued at a statelier pace, alone in the dark and forsaken by my friends. Never have I made a greater mistake (that I can think of right now, at least). It would have been far more profitable for me to have run through the school like one possessed with the others. 

I was walking slowly through a short-cut corridor I know (it's only there every second Friday between 6:35 and midnight; I timed it) when Potter jumped out at me. I very nearly screamed; only the knowledge that Professor McGonagall's office was very close by kept me silent. He must have been waiting for me, or for _somebody_, but he gave me the fright of my life (not literally, but still a fright). 

"Oh, Evans, sorry-" began Potter sheepishly,

"Potter, what are you doing slinking around here like that!" I gasped.

"I was just waiting for Sirius-"

"Sirius Black is currently running to the common room at breakneck speed," I said tersely.

"Oh," was all he had to say. It was quite interesting to witness Potter at a loss for words. It doesn't happen very often, and when it does he looks quite pathetic. 

"Well," I said, suddenly acutely aware that Potter was standing about three inches away and that we were in a dark and disused corridor, "I'll just be going then," for once I didn't even suggest that he go back to the common room, as per the rules. I made to walk around him, but he suddenly cleared his throat. I in my idiocy stopped and looked at him,

"What is it?" I asked, my voice strangely croaky,

"How did you like the performance?" he asked pointlessly. I could tell he was stalling for time, but I stayed on.

"It was good," I said, "A better idea than the chocolate drive, I suppose," I felt I needed to add something. To my surprised Potter went pink. I wondered absently if any other girl had managed to make Potter blush. Probably not. I felt oddly proud. 

"Ah, yes, well…I suppose – I suppose I've haven't acted all that-"

"Maturely?" I supplied, cringing. I hadn't meant to say that! I hadn't meant to prolong this conversation at all!

"Well, yes.." he mumbled

"Neither – neither have I," I couldn't believe words that were coming out of my mouth! Had Sirius spiked my drink? Potter looked up from his study of the dusty floor, his eyes bright,

"Is – is this a _real_ apology?" he asked in hushed tones. I opened my mouth for a sharp retort, but in one swift movement he covered my mouth with his fingertips. I _felt _my eyes widen. And I also felt, to my horror, a tingling feeling trace its way through my body from where his fingers rested on my lips. My heart thumped wildly and I couldn't breath, I could practically feel my insides tensing up, _freezing _up. I imagined what would happen if I didn't _ever breath again. I'd just keel over dead, and they'd find Potter in the morning kneeling beside my stiffened corpse…  He did not move, he seemed just as shocked as I did. I don't know how long we stood there, like that, frozen to the spot. Suddenly Potter came to his senses, and all colour drained from his face,_

"I'm sorry…sorry," he choked out, and like a startled rabbit he dashed away and was gone. I stared after him like they do in the movies, and slowly crumpled to the ground, my mind numb with a thousand thoughts. I didn't sneak back to the common room until well after midnight. 

I've just found out something I've been putting off for a long time now. Celine is going to have a field day. 

_Saturday 20th of December_

It's raining outside. The droplets are making those fascinating little tadpole shapes that seemed to slither across the window in a constant stream. I could watch them all day. I am in a much more practical (relatively speaking) frame of mind than I was last night. This is partly because I am all alone, securely locked in my own train compartment on the Hogwart's Express, having told Celine and Tor I have Head Girl duties (only a small lie). I am sure that if I went out to face the world, and _him, I would be a trembling bag of nerves and flesh. But now I have a whole two weeks of Christmas break to _not_ be around school people, so I can relax and keep out of the despised Sister's way while maintaining a polite interesting in her nuptials for the sake of our dear mother. _

And I can think about my predicament. 

And what exactly is my predicament, you ask? Well, my mind is still divided on that point, and though I write so casually, I can assure you my mind is in turmoil over the matter. Perhaps last night was simply a hormonal reaction due to extreme proximity and tangled thoughts, because I mean, we didn't actually _do_ anything. Ok, _he made me feel all tingly and weak, (like the main character will feel in all good romance novels), but that could be put down to some kind of excess magical energy floating through that particular corridor, couldn't it? It _could _have been, but I have a nasty suspicion that it wasn't. Because when I saw _him_ (from a distance) this morning at breakfast, my stomach clenched and I thought I was going to choke on my toast. And I wasn't offended by the messiness of his hair. I was __endearedby it. This _is _what happens when you are attracted to someone, isn't it?_

I really wouldn't know.

Perhaps I have some kind of terrible virus and only days to live. Actually, that's quite a good scenario, then I won't be coming back to school, and I won't be seeing _him again…I just felt another pang at that thought. I can't bear the thought of never seeing him again. Merlin help me. I can't believe it just happened like that. How can you just realise one night in a corridor that you _don't___ find someone an arrogant piece of filth, that you _don't _despise everything about them because you have principles. He didn't even say anything revolutionary. He didn't reveal his true and beautiful self, he didn't make any sentimental speeches. He didn't say _anything _worth hearing, for God's sake. He was just _there_. _

That must be it. 

He's must _there, like he has been for every other girl he's ever gone out with. I must be finally seeing what everyone else woke up to long ago. I'm seeing him as all the other girls do. As a heart-throb, a boy any girl would give anything to go out with. This is probably just routine for him. A girl falls for his charm and looks (though these are questionable), goes out with him, gets dumped or dumps him, and that's the end of it. I'm just another feather in his cap. A feather he's been coveting for years, no doubt, but still only a feather liable to blow away.  Even now he's probably telling his mates how he's finally getting somewhere with me. How he bets that I'll be dating him within the week. I'm starting to feel sick. What a silly little fool I am. I've always prided myself in my level-headedness and stability, and now look where it's got me. Going all fluttery over a boy I've been fighting with all year. Well, it ends here. I will not feel _anything _for JAMES POTTER, I will not go out of my way to be near him, and I will not even __talk to him. It is better this way. _

Well, will you look at that. In four short paragraphs, I have talked myself round. This diary really is an influence. Terribly sorry, Celine, your field day's been cancelled due to rain.


	7. Sweet Seventeen and a Party to Remember

_DISCLAIMER_: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

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**The Truth**

****

_SWEET SEVENTEEN AND A PARTY TO REMEMBER_

_Wednesday 24th of December (Christmas Eve!)___

The first think that Petunia soon-to-be-Dursley said to me at six o'clock last Saturday night when I turned up on our doorstep dressed in my oldest jeans and sweater was,

"Oh, God, it's you. Quick, Vernon's here, go up to your room and don't come down-"

"I've met Vernon before, dearest," I interrupted sweetly (I was feeling quite jolly at the time), "I'm sure he won't mind a few more-"

"Yes, but that was before he found out that you're a – a-" she couldn't quite bear to say it,

"A witch?" I supplied helpfully, "So you told him, then?"

"Yes-" But then my mother arrived on the scene. 

"_Lily_," she gushed, "How are you? Oh, Pete, our head-girl is home!" she called over her shoulder before wrapping me into an affectionate, if a little bony, hug. I buried my head in her angular shoulder and began to feel quite sentimental. The despised sister stood to one side, scowling deeply and making impatient little clicking noises with her tongue. My mother grasped my arm in her thin hands and propelled me into the kitchen, Petunia trailing sulkily behind. 

"How's my girl, then?" asked my father, who was sitting at the table talking to Vernon (who looked at me with the kind of dazed horror one might look at a pile of sliming green mucus that had suddenly grown legs and arms). Grinning, I gave dad a kiss on the cheek and pulled up a chair beside him. My dad looks a lot like me; he has the same red hair and greens eyes, but of course the resemblance is a bit hard to see since he has a big bushy red beard at the moment. My mum is always remarking proudly that it's a miracle his beard is still red. My mum's hair's gone grey, is why. But it doesn't make much difference, because my mother's hair has alway's been a mousy non-colour. Like Petunia's. I like to think that mum was unfortunate enough to inherit Petunia's looks, not the other way round. But it's what's on the inside that counts, and besides, at least mum doesn't look like a horse. Petunia does, as Celine remarked at her first D.S encounter. That was back in the Easter holidays of our first year. Celine had come over to watch the World Cup, and Petunia answered the door, (she nearly choked when she realised that Celine was holding a six-foot broomstick and wearing a pointy fluoro-pink witch's hat).

"Hello, you must be Petunia!" said Celine brightly, "I'm Celine, pleased to meet you!" (She'd been dying all year to meet my sister. God knows why). Petunia, incapable of normal speech, screeched,

"_Lily!"_ until I came hurtling down the stairs, fearing some kind of horrific accident. Though the arrival of eleven-year-old Celine Varaten on anyone's doorstep might be considered an accident to most people, it defiantly wasn't horrific, so I calmly invited her in. Rather than being perturbed my Petunia's frightful behaviour, Celine took it as a type of challenge. She spent ages trying to have a sensible conversation with the girl, but I could have told her there was no point. There was simply _no way_ Petunia was going to accept one of my 'freak friends' from 'that school' as a human being, (of course in Celine's case she might have had an argument). Later, when the D.S had retreated to her room, almost in tears, (after Celine's decision to call her 'Pet' as a nick-name, to get things more friendly don't you know) Celine had said,

"You're sister looks like Mr Donaldson from down the road's old pony Sclub," Never having met Mr Donaldson or his Sclub, I couldn't really relate, but it is certainly  true that Petunia has certain long, horsy qualities that are becoming more prominent as she gets older.

Anyway, now it's Christmas Eve, and I have spent the last few days catching up with mum and dad, avoiding the bride to be and decorating the Christmas tree. I got a letter from Celine stating that she would be coming round on my birthday and a letter from Tory asking my permission to come round on my birthday. I've been having a good time really, apart for the Vernon factor. I mean, I can deal with utmost contempt from a family member, but I'm having trouble dealing with a terrorised six-foot two non-relative with a moustache. Just think, soon we will be legally brother and sister in law. I guess I'm just not used inspiring so much fear in anyone over the age of fourteen. 

Christmas Greetings to ye,

Lily

_Friday 26th of December_

'Tis the season to be jolly! Falalalala lalalala! Christmas was _fabulous_. All my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents et cetera came over for this _huge party. I have some pretty wild nineteen to twenty-year-old male cousins with fancy cars and illegal fireworks. It's amazing how much people can change when you haven't seen them for a while. We had a traditional turkey for dinner, and it _snowed_, and we all went out and had a massive snow-ball fight in the garden (except Nan, who doesn't approve of that kind of thing). I was in such a good mood that I didn't aim one cool or sickly sweet comment at either of the soon-to-be-weds_

_Saturday 27th of December_

I 

Am 

Seventeen

I have been seventeen for four and a nine and a half hours now, and have enjoyed every second of it, even though I am no sweet. In a year's time I'll be an adult (in the muggle world). In a year's time I'll be out of school. Will I end up an auror like I said I would in fifth year, when I was all fired up about the rise of the Dark Lord? You never can tell. At nine o'clock this morning Tory and Celine arrived smack bang on time, because they (already being seventeen) have taken their apparition tests. The Despised Fiancé (shall now be D.F), nearly had heart failure when my two best friends appeared with resounding cracks (they were still fine-tuning their technique) in our living room. The D.S, already having failed to wish me a happy birthday, treated Celine and Tor to her nastiest scowl. Never one to be put out, Celine wished her a merry Christmas (not forgetting to call her 'Pet') and introduced herself to Vernon with an enthusiasm that astounded everyone. Tory smiled shyly and looked worried when Vernon gave her a look of blind terror. I suppose she'd forgotten that she had an extremely realistic looking magical tree-frog toy bouncing merrily around the brim of her hat. But other than that, she looked quite 'normal'. I don't know what the D.F was so hung up about. My friends, considerate to the last, had donned the stuffiest of muggle clothing they could find. Tory was dressed in brand-new jeans and an inoffensive cream sweater, and Celine had on school-uniform-like pleated skirt, blouse and stockings (I was highly amused at the idea of Queen Celine in stockings. Highly amused.). They came bearing gifts, and in ten minute's time I was the proud owner of a copy of _Charm Your Ears of and Hex Your Guts Out_ by Helena Seedly, a box of my favourite chocolates, a friendship bracelet with our names engraved on it, and a wonderful little model of a unicorn that walks around and neighs (_A pet you don't have to feed!__ It said on the label). After that, the D.S and the D.F got out of the house fairly quickly, telling my mother they had people to see about the wedding. She got that sad look on her face that she always gets when she's thinking about the rift between Petunia and I, but she soon perked up when she saw Celine. My mother loves Celine, almost as if she were her own daughter. She also loves Tory, but Tory isn't someone she can spend hours talking about the making of choc-chip cookies to. So while Celine and Mum were having their little heart-to-heart catching-up Lily-hasn't-got-a-boyfriend-has-she talk, Tor and I went up to my room where we sat and chatted. She fiddled with the scant muggle technology that I possessed while I braided her hair (it's absolutely wonderful hair to braid. So _straight_, so _thin_). We talked about many things, from the latest hurdle in the romance of Elizabeth-Charlotte Teanly to the small doings of Tory's twin brothers, Albert and Andrew, who on Christmas day decorated their muggle-uncle George's car with toilet paper and exploding spit-balls (manufactured at _Zonko's Jokeshop_, Hogsmeade). Finally the conversation, as I knew it would, turned to James Potter, a topic I didn't want to pursue (The resolution I made on the Hogwart's express still stands, but his fat head keeps appearing in my mind's eye when I'm not concentrating. It's disgusting!) Tory, either oblivious to my discomfiture or enjoying it, ploughed on,_

"Do you know, when we were on the Hogwarts Express, and you had head-girl duties, Potter came to sit with us-"

"How come?" I asked, trying to sound casual,

"Well that was the odd thing, he seemed a bit lost-"

"Potter? Lost? I don't think-"

"I think he was looking for you," she said without the slightest change in tone,

"He's always looking for me, Tor," I said, smiling triumphantly, thinking I had the answer to everything. But that's the problem with Tory, she hears a lot of what you don't say. A horribly perceptive young lass. But luckily, before she could dig any further, Celine arrived with impeccable timing,

"Hi," she smiled, "Do you two want to go ice-skating with Joey?" Tor gave her a blank look. She had never met Joella Evans. There are some people who would say she's lucky on that count. 

"You know, Lily's cousin – oh yeah, you wouldn't have met her-"

"She's my cousin from Scotland, she's twelve, and she's staying up here for a week. She probably just got out of bed," I interrupted, "She loves ice-skating,"

"So do I!" Celine enthused, "You know that I-"

"Like Muggle sports, yes," finished Tory, "I'd like to go too."

So we spent the rest of the day running ourselves ragged and generally having fun. Despite what I said before, I'm not one of the people who wishes they hadn't met Joey. I love her dearly, though she's as bouncy as a Tigger, and like a Tigger, it's very hard to unbounce her. But she's good value. She keeps up and she's quite at home with three seventeen-year-olds, two of whom she barely knows (though I suppose if you've met Celine once then you do _know_ her). This would be absolute torture for some twelve-year-olds I know. Joey is obviously an Evans, she has the same green eyes as me, and my father and her father, Uncle Tim. She's also a great skater, and was running rings around all of us, especially Tory, who's never done it before. 

After skating, we bought ice-creams and wandered around the neighbourhood a bit, just talking and laughing. When Celine and Tory finally left, I was tired but happy, and am at this moment finding it hard to lift my quill. 

So for now, I bid you adieu, Dearest Diary, until another day.

_Saturday 3rd of December_

Last night I went to my first ever wizarding party and it was an….experience. To say the least. It was at Celine's house – and held by her sister Miranda in honour of her eighteenth Birthday, (Though I'm quite sure half the guests had no knowledge of this). Celine appeared at my house at six o'clock on Thursday night, scared the living daylights out of the D.F, and announced that I was coming to her sister's costume party and that she would pick me up at seven-thirty sharp the next night. She would have disappeared without my getting a word in edgeways, too, if I hadn't grabbed her by the arm and forced her to explain in full. Once she realised she was not going to get away quickly (Her urgency made me wonder just exactly where young Toby was at that moment), she was quite happy to comply. Apparently, Mr and Mrs Varaten were away on holiday in America, and were not expected back for weeks, so Miranda, never one to give the perfect opportunity a miss, had decided to invite everyone she knew, and quite a few people she didn't, to the party of a life time. She had hired DJ's, decorations, lights and expanding spells for the house, and as Celine told me, I just _had to come. Fully aware that Miranda Jane Varaten was something of a wild child and that I probably had no idea what I was getting myself into, I agreed readily, glad to get away from the hateful love-birds (It is unpleasant to witness your sister kissing anyone full stop. To see her kissing Vernon Dursley is another matter entirely). _

So at seven-thirty sharp, there I was waiting out my house in ankle deep snow, with no clue as to how I was to be 'picked up'. (You see, I still haven't done my apparating tests yet). It was a tremendous shock when the cloudy night was suddenly filled with a strange roaring noise, like some kind of engine. A motorbike engine, actually. Yes, believe it or not, I travelled to the party of Miranda Varaten on the back of a giant flying motorbike owned by Sirius Black. As I was told later on, Sirius Black had taken his GFMB (I don't know _how _he got permission to own that machine. The Ministry of Magic must be corrupt) to Toby's father (who's a mechanic) to get it fitted with something (some kind of muggle device he couldn't get hold of in the wizarding world). Unfortunately, Toby's father wasn't there, so then Black and Toby had some kind of male bonding session whilst figuring out how to fix the bike, and are now all chummy. Black 'is quite a sporting fellow once you get to know him', and Toby 'isn't half bad, for a Hufflepuff'. Funny old world, isn't it?

So that is why Black agreed to transport Celine, Toby and I to the party. He arrived with his usual grin (This time enhanced by the very life-like vampire fangs he was wearing for his costume), and bade me mount up behind the other two. It was a tight squeeze, and highly dangerous, but it was the only way I was going to get to the party (you would have thought Celine could've stayed home and saved space, but she had to be in on the fun). I clung to Celine's waist in mortal fear as the vehicle rose into the air and the startled faces of my family looking out the window got smaller and smaller. I wondered what the muggles would say if they saw us, but Black breezily brushed off my qualms, saying it was too dark to see anything and they'd just think the noise was a low-flying aeroplane. By the time we got to Celine's place I was actually beginning to enjoy the ride. When we got off, Black put some kind of charm on the bike to make it invisible and led the way toward the house, his long black vampire's cape twirling around him. The house was truly spectacular. Though they couldn't have much magic on the outside, the awe inspiring amount of fairy lights that adorned every available space would have astounded any muggle. We met Tory on the garden path, where she was fluttering around anxiously, not wanting to go in before we were there to accompany her. After Sirius strode off in search of the Birthday Girl (they had dated briefly during his sixth year), the four of us stood on the path for a while, recovering from the flight and comparing costumes. Celine was dressed in a silver cat-suit, matching cat's ears that twitched every now and again, a long silvery tail, a black nose and a pair of whiskers. It suited her; there's always been something rather feline about Celine (The way she moves or something). You had to smile at young Toby, too, wearing a full polar-bear suit that made him look twice as tall as usual, and inhumanly thin. Draping a paw around Celine's shoulders, he said,

"She's with me," in a growling bear-voice. I laughed, anyway. Tory, as was appropriate, was dressed as an angel, with fluffy wings and her wonderful tranquil smile. I'd gone for the traditional fairy-princess look, and felt utterly ridiculous in my floaty mauve skirt, sequinned bodice and golden tiara (my mother's suggestions, of course). I consoled myself with Tory's words, 'You look _beautiful_, Lily, like a flittering fairy!' That girl always knows the right thing to say. 

So we entered the building and greeted Miranda appropriately (it took a bit to find her, she was already dancing exuberantly with Sirius Black). Miranda looks a lot like Celine, yet she doesn't. While Celine is slim and long, Miranda is short and stocky, with short black hair to Celine's long red. But they have the same face, or the same expression. Celine's quirky grin is mirrored in her older sister's .

"Hi Lily! Haven't seen you around for a while!" she yelled over the hubbub of party-goers. And it truly was a hubbub, or perhaps a seething mass of bodies, even. The Varaten's lounge room had been expanded to about ten times it's original size, and had been rendered unrecognizable with magical decorations. The room was mainly dark, except for the frequent fire-works and unidentified flying magical creatures that shot around above our heads. The music (if it could be classified as music) was loud, wild, and raucous and I hoped from the beginning that there would be some slow numbers. For a while Tory and I stuck together while Celine and (a reluctant) Toby boogied down. We edged towards the walls at what seemed like a snail's pace, unable to make headway through the dancers. That was when I lost sight of Tory (no mean feat since she had fixed her clothes to radiate some kind of constant heavenly glow), and began to feel quite claustrophobic. All around me people were writhing in time to the music, and although I knew that many of them were fellow students from my year and the previous one, they were indistinguishable under their costumes. And it was _hot_. Very hot. Miranda had obviously forgotten to get air conditioning. I could feel my face heating up under it's layers of glitter and make-up, and my throat grew parched and sore. I cursed myself for bringing nothing to tie my hair back from my sweaty neck. So there I was, standing nervously in the crowd, on the point of fainting, when I caught sight of James Potter dancing a few metres a way. And so I had no choice but to put myself at the mercy of the enemy, for he was the only person I recognised. So with a sinking feeling in my stomach and a blister on my right foot, I battled my way over to him. He was dancing with Lina Matherson, and he didn't have a shirt on. He was wearing an animal costume like Toby's, but only the bottom half of it held up by suspenders. Clawed feet didn't seem to hinder him at all as he whirled Lina around. As I had feared, the sight of him made me feel just as fluttery as it had before we broke up from school. I tried not to look at his bare, shiny chest as I croaked out,

"I…need…water," This was not the smoothest thing to say, but I _was_ feeling sick. Potter turned around to look at me, wiping his glasses clean as he did. When he saw who I was, he blushed. I guess both of us were remembering the disused-corridor incident. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, and I repeated my previous inspired statement. I must have been looking quite pathetic, because he understood exactly what I meant. 

"Follow me, then," he said, without, I noted with satisfaction, a second glance at Lina. Suddenly, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled be against him. I nearly passed out. My protests were futile, too, for he seemed to have gone temporarily deaf as he dragged me inexorably after him, the crowd parting automatically as he swept by. Finally we reached a glass side-door, and hurriedly disengaging myself, I lurched outside, gasping in the cold night air. Unfortunately, Potter didn't seem to feel his duty was quite done yet. 

"I'll get you a drink," he said, and disappeared into the crowd. I thought about rushing back off by myself, since I was feeling much better, but knew I'd just get lost again.

"Here," said Potter, materialising in front of me, "Why didn't you just apparate out of there?" Not deigning this question worthy of an answer, I snatched the water from him and gulped it down.

"Thanks," I muttered. We stood there for while, not saying anything. I wished he would just go away, because I was pretty sure that my heart would explode in a very messy way with much more of this. What right did he have to stand there half-naked, staring at me like that?

"What did you come as?" asked my stupid mouth.

"Oh, Wormtail – I mean Peter and I came as a Griffin, but it got too hot. I'm the bottom half," he said eagerly. I nodded carefully,

"Well, thanks. I'll just go find Tor-"

"Don't think you owe me at least one dance?" he asked quickly, before I could escape. Ah, there. I knew it was coming. I managed to get my lips to form the word 'No', but he'd already whisked me back into the broiling heat. Typically, the next song was slow. With a look of (slightly drunken, I think) ecstasy on his face, Potter put his arms around my waist and began to dance. I had no choice, because any word of protest I spoke was drowned out by the music,

"Love the costume, Evans," shouted Potter, looking more like his old self, "Very sweet-"

 "Shutup!" I bellowed, finding my voice, and my anger (which helped me think anti-potter thoughts),

"No, I'm serious-"

"How did _you_ get invited to this?"

"I'm bloody popular-"

"No, you're bloody arrogant-"

"Yes – but I can't help it-"

"Anyone can make some effort-"

"I'm not just anyone-"

"No, you're-"

"I'm-"

"James Potter," I said, glaring at him (while at the same time suppressing the urge to brush his hair out of his eyes). That shut him up until the end of the dance, though I would have preferred it if he was smirking flirtatiously instead of wearing that strange, distant, unpotterish smile on his face. 

So we continued to dance (by dance I mean sway slightly and move around a bit; I've never been into the whole dance-floor thing), my heart continued to beat wildly, and I continued to wish that I had taken that apparition test the second I turned seventeen. My party experience came to a rather startling halt as the last 'notes' rang out across the room and I sprang away from Potter as quickly as was humanly possible. Several things happened in quick succession (you need to understand that over half the people in the room were at least mildly intoxicated at this point). First, a feral roar erupted from somewhere in the middle of the room causing the masses to become silent, second, a loud _thump_ was heard with astonishing clarity and everyone started shouting and screaming almost simultaneously. And then Sirius Black came bounding through the crowd, grinning manically and dragging behind him – wait for it – _Tory_.  

"We gotta go, Prongs," he said to Potter, "_Now," To my surprise, Potter didn't ask any questions, he just took one look at Black's face and began to follow him and _Tory_ out the door. I stood alone and forgotten. Suddenly it dawned on me that without Sirius I had no way to get home. _

"_Hey_!" I yelled, as a large beefy boy, dressed as Tarzan, pushed past me and lumbered after them. Turning my back on the mayhem behind me (several fist-fights had started after Sirius' dramatic exit), I hurried into the now snow-laden garden and made for Tory's shimmering figure (I then realised I'd lost my jacket, but by that point I could do nothing about it). Being fleeter of foot than Tarzan, I overtook him (he was too drunk to notice), and called out to the others. By the time I got there Sirius had uncloaked his bike and was whispering urgently to Potter,

"…you'll be fine mate, nothing to it…" I looked around at Tory, but she was watching Tarzan coming up behind us and wringing her hands. From the traumatized look on her face, I decided that now was not the time to ask what had happened. Everyone suddenly noticed me,

"_Evans_," said Sirius in surprise, his fake teeth falling out on to the ground, "Er, sorry, forgot about you-"

"You bring Evans, did you Padfoot?" said Potter, glancing nervously at the advancing Tarzan (he still had his shirt off and it had begun to snow gently).

"Yeah," said Sirius, who looked as if he had lost control of the situation, "Uh, all aboard then," he said vaguely.

"GET BACK HERE, BLACK!" Tarzan was nearly upon us,

"_Quick_,"

"What about Celine and Toby?" 

"They won't fit anyway,"

"Gee, Padfoot, I've never driven this thing before-"

"Oh, he's _coming_,"

"Potter, you'll get frostbite,"

"_Quick_,"

So we all piled onto the vehicle, squashed up and freezing with Potter driving because Black said he was too drunk (at least he was honest), and we were away. And not a moment too soon. As we roared away into the night, a purple-faced, orange loin-clothed Tarzan (and motley group of drunkards who had smelt out the fight) stood shaking fists and bellowing incoherently. 

We didn't talk for the whole trip. I guess we were all lost in our own thoughts. I was going to ask what had happened, but I suddenly felt really tired and only managed to get out a belated 'thanks' as Potter zoomed away, carrying an almost swooning Black to wherever if is that Black lives. Slowly removing my crumpled fairy wings, I trudged back home to discover that it was four o'clock. Boy, does the time fly when you're having fun. 


	8. Aftermath

_DISCLAIMER_: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**The Truth**

_AFTERMATH_

_Sunday 11th of January_

Last day of the holidays. The day when you realise that you've forgotten to do your homework and stay up until midnight vainly trying to complete it in any satisfactory way. Well, at least I, being a responsible seventh-year NEWT student, had only _two _essays I'd forgotten to do. And how do I have the time to write in this you ask? Well, lets just say that the life-cycle of the kappa isn't all that stimulating and that I won't stand for Professor Dupinkay being the cause of my dying of chronic boredom. 

This week has been an odd week in most respects. Mum and Dad have been out a lot, celebrating their twentieth anniversary, and I've a nasty suspicion (from the giddy giggles I hear some nights after midnight) that they may be exploiting their inner teenager for all its worth. I just hope the effects are not permanent. So with the aged parents out of the house a lot, and Vernon and Petunia trying to keep as far away as possible from me at all times (I've been demonstrating quite a bit of magic recently), I've actually had the house to myself at times– and friends who drop by and leave as suddenly as they arrived. I've slowly been able to piece together what happened from them, however. I thought it a bit of an anticlimax myself, but you may not.

Tory was the first to drag herself out of bed (Tory, with a hangover! _Can_ you believe it?) and zap herself to my house late on the Saturday evening after the party. I must at admit, I stared at her, gobsmacked, for a full minute before I invited her in. The dishevelled, pale creature with blood-shot eyes was simply not an image I could relate to neat, sensible little Tory I had come to know and love. 

"_Victoria__!"_ I said, sounding like my mother. Tor smiled weakly and trooped into my fire-lit lounge room. 

"Lily," said Tor solemnly, "Firewhisky should _never_ be the first alcoholic drink you ever try." I gaped at her, and she stared back until the corners of her eyes began to crinkle and she began to giggle. That set me off, and before we knew it we were rolling around and laughing uproariously. 

"Tell me what happened," I gasped after a while, still having difficulty picturing Tory politely sipping Firewhisky, the most potent drink the wizarding world has to offer. 

And so I heard the story, or Tor's version, which is probably more truthful than anyone else's. After we had been split up the night before, Tory had found herself in the midst of a gaggle of anonymous dancers, who were undoubtedly very friendly, but who also felt that no one should be left standing on the side. Tory's first partner was a stocky lad dressed as a flobber-worm (don't ask), and she managed five other dances until they broke into the firewhisky. I personally would have thought that Tor should have had enough sense to decline, but she was 'caught up in the moment, and actually enjoying herself', and besides, the poor naïve thing had no idea what firewhisky was (even _I _know that, and my father isn't even a wizard). So Tory got drunk, and as I told her, she would have to work to repair my opinion of her (she was appropriately ashamed and pitiful about it, so I'll probably forgive her). The next bit of her story was a bit hazy, and I withheld my suspicions as to why, but apparently some boy (Tarzan, I'd say) thought Tory was in need of a good snog, and then Sirius Black arrived on the scene to save her. The picture Tory painted of our vampire friend was far too complimentary for my liking, but he did do some good. Though things went downhill after that. For reasons I didn't want to go into at the time, Sirius Black was feeling very protective of our Tor, so he aimed a punch at the offending seven-foot giant, others joined him and a massive fight broke out. Sirius heroically dragged Tor out of the fray and ran for his life (and it's just lucky Potter was there to get him out of there. Not that I'm praising him or anything). And do you know what the worst thing is? As she left, Tory said something like,

"That Sirius, he's not so bad you know Lily, and he's very handsome…" I resisted the urge to make her see reason, assuming that she was too tired to think clearly. 

My next visitor, predictably, was Celine. She came in large as life and gushing about the party. She did not seemed at all disturbed that her sister's party had turned into a full on brawl, 

"_Lily_," she said, "You should have _stayed_. It was _awesome_," she went on for a few more minutes in an entirely inappropriate manner about the party, adding words like 'wicked' in here and there for no apparent reason.

"Celine, it turned into a riot," I said,

"That's bullocks, it was-"

"They had _firewhisky_,"

"Hey, how d'you know that?"

"_Tory_,"

"Oh yeah, Tory…"

"Yeah, so what happened after we left?" I rolled my eyes as Celine began to giggle,

"Well," she said gasped, "I suppose it's not that funny, but all those blokes who were chasing Sirius came back in completely off there heads and there was a _huge_ fist fight between the Hogwart's kids and the ex-students! And all the boys seemed to have grog hidden on them, so-"

"Celine, why are you laughing?" I asked sharply. She suddenly stopped and stared at me, long, orange hair sticking out around her face,

"I'm not really sure," she said in a small voice, "I think I'd better go." And then she was gone in a puff of green smoke. Can you believe that? The girl is mad, nutcase, a psychiatrist's dream! Completely bonkers. 

Then came the real surprise. Toby, Black and _Potter_ came round. Together. Can you believe it? The nerve of them, to show up like that. 

"Hi," said young Toby, completely unaware of my discomfiture at the presence of his companions.  

"Hi," I said icily. Could the love of Celine's life possess such stupidity as to deliberately lead James Potter to my doorstep? I'm still finding it difficult to fathom. "What are you doing here?" I asked in a harsher tone than I intended.

"Just to see if you were all right!" piped up Sirius chirpily. I raised my eyebrows,

"You would probably have heard if I had died," I said a touch more politely. 

"Good point-"

"Hi Evans!" said Potter.

"Hi," I said, not looking at him (to look would have been fatal).

"Celine about?" asked Toby, and I sighed with relief. He had only been looking for his deranged girlfriend, not cunningly plotting my demise. I smiled,

"Nope, sorry, haven't seen her since yesterday-"

"Well, can we come in anyway?" asked Sirius, and I could already see from his God-awful grin that he was just dying to get a good look inside my house.

"Um, you see I was just going out-"

"_Toby_! So nice to see you dear, are these some friends of yours?" Mothers. Don't you just love them? If only she'd never met Toby before. Then maybe she would've had a heart attack over the appearance of three seventeen-year-old boys on her daughter's doorstep and sent them packing. As it was, she went all goo-gaa over Toby-the-blithering-idiot and said,

"Oh, _do _come in, boys. I'm always saying Lily doesn't invite around enough male friends!" 

Ok, think extreme mortification. That really was a real gem in Mum's treasury of embarrassing comments. For one thing, she is always saying nothing of the sort (she's _pleased_ I don't fraternise with the male species too much!), and for another, what right has she to decide which boys I invite in for cake and a spot of tea?

Wearing what I knew to be a thunderous look on my face, I traipsed after my snickering 'male friends' sending death glares in the general direction of my oblivious mother. I think she really would have offered the tea and cake, too, if the D.S (on one of her brief visits to her childhood home) had not burst into the  living room gasbagging about swan-shaped dinner napkins. Until she saw the three boys that is. She stood there and stared at them, her-orb like pools of viciousness she likes to call eyes practically rolling out onto the floor. 

"Petunia, these are Lily's friends-" my mother began, soon to be cut off by Black who, with an ironic bow, said,

"Ah, you must be Lily's sister! I'm Sirius Black, pleased to meet you-"

"And I'm James Potter-"

Then Petunia screamed and ran out of the room.

Sirius had transformed Potter's ears into long writhing tentacles. Ingenious, really; his wand hardly moved. Torn between the urge to laugh at Petunia and the urge to be disapproving of Black, I smiled uncertainly and wished they would go away. My mother (I would _really _like to know what was going on in her befuddled brain today) cackled with laughter and explained about Petunia being highly strung due to the wedding, et cetera. 

Potter and Black threw themselves onto armchairs, smiling broadly and looking around the room. Toby, I was gratified to note, was beginning to look distinctly uncomfortable.

"A drink?" I asked them, and Potter waved his tentacles at me. 

"Oh, _good,_ Toby, you can come and help me get them!" grasping him firmly by the elbow, I propelled him towards the kitchen, where my mother could be heard clattering around. Beaming at me idiotically, she pointed to the already poured drinks and attempted to shoo me back into the living room. Shaking my head firmly I waited until my mother had left with the tray of drinks before turning to Toby.

"What the _hell _do you think you're doing?" I asked, getting to the point. He looked mildly surprised at my tone, then realised what I was talking about.

"Erm, well…" he shrugged helplessly, his sandy eyebrows knitted anxiously. Young Toby has always been a man of few words, but I had credited him with the ability to have a few more thoughts. 

"You brought _Potter,_ and Black _here_," I prompted him. 

"Oh, well, I didn't think…" he trailed off. (For someone so tall he does a really good impression of a petrified field mouse)

"What, that I'd mind?"

"Well, yes…"

"Potter. _Here_."

"Well, Celine's always saying you and he would get on famously if you'd give each other half a chance-"

"Don't go there, Toby,"

"Oh, I'm _really_ sorry, Lily! I honestly didn't think it would be a big deal…I really was just looking for Celine…had no intention of coming in…"

There really wasn't any point in being angry at him. I mean, to anyone else except me it really wouldn't appear a 'big deal'. I wasn't even sure wether I had the right to create a big deal out of it, but there was just something incredibly _wrong _with the picture of Sirius Black sitting in my living room chatting to my mother with James Potter beside him looking around pervertedly at my personal possessions and waggling his slimy green tentacles.  Anyway, you just can't yell at Toby. He just gives you the answer according to his logic and then apologises wether or not he's in the wrong. An infuriating boy. 

And so it was that Black and Potter were introduced to my house and family. They told me about how they'd gone back to the party after the heat had died down, got roaring drunk (not in front of my mother of course) and slept in Celine's house with the other sixty or so people who were in no fit state to make it home. I failed to see how I was supposed to be impressed. Then, Sirius went into a graphic detail about a fist-fight he had over a party pie in the early hours of the morning. Interestingly enough he had no qualms about explaining that he had lost dramatically and even seemed proud that he had to go to St Mungo's the following day to have several crushed foot and finger-bones repaired.  

The Three intruders finally left after a few hours of great laughter (on their part) and nervousness of what they would do next (on my part). I ushered them to the door with forcefulness bordering on rudeness after Sirius had brought the topic of Tory into the conversation. 

"You know, that Tory's very nice once you get to know her," he said innocently, earning a glare from me. 

"And pretty too," said Potter smiling with satisfaction. 

"I've never got to know her really well before-"

"Neither have I, I always thought she was a bit of a swat, actually-" 

"_Potter-"_

"But boy can she dance-"

"And her costume!"

"Like a nymph dancing in the moonlight she was-"

"Toby, I'm sure you have places to be," I interjected crisply, 

"Ah, yes," replied Toby, looking slightly worried. 

"What do you think, Lily?" asked Black, ignoring my thunderous face, "Do I have a chance with sweet Victoria?"

"_No_," I said firmly, and he pretended to looks hurt, his dark eyes downcast,

"Aw, don't be so negative, Evans! Padfoot here usually finds the girls pretty defenceless against his charms," said Potter, winking disgustingly at me. 

"I just don't think Tory would be so stupid as to get involved with the likes of either of _you_," I snapped, without thinking. As both Potter and Black's faces darkened considerably, I had a niggling feeling that, after being fairly abrupt and unresponsive for the past few hours, I had gone a little too far.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean, then?" asked Black in a deadly calm voice. I could not tell if he was joking or serious. My throat went dry.

"Oh, well, what I mean is that you've hardly got the reputation as being the world's steadiest boyfriend, have you?" I ploughed on, suddenly feeling determined to have my say. Black's striking face suddenly twisted in the an ugly scowl,

"And what would _you_ know about _me,_ Miss Evans?" he growled,

"I know enough," I said, finding courage in my anger. I thought about how most of Black's girlfriends either end up blubbering heaps on their dormitory floors or rage-filled maniacs vowing revenge, and looked him squarely in the eye.

"Enough? You don't know the first thing about me," he said, and I still couldn't tell what he was thinking. I opened my mouth, and even I don't know what I would have said if Potter hadn't cut in,

"Leave it Padfoot,"

"Why, Prongs? I'm interested to know-"

"Just leave it-"

"What gives her the right to decide who I-"

"_Leave_ it,"

"Just because you fancy her-" Black stopped talking and looked slightly embarrassed (if it is possible for him), and glanced at his friend. Potter eyed him coolly and turned to me (I was just standing there like a stunned mullet with a full frontal lobotomy),

"I think we'll be going now," he said without a trace of the smirk which had been occupying his face since his arrival. 

"Yes I think we will," said Black sinisterly, and I tried no to shudder. Attempting to keep my composure, save face and prevent Black from a forming an even greater grudge against me, I smiled painfully and showed them out. As Toby walked out I gave him what I hoped was a perfectly excruciating dig in the ribs and watched him trudge miserably after the others. When I caught up I saw Black cheerfully sling one arm over each of his two friend's shoulders. A horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach told me that he'd been laughing at me all along. I just hope Tory knows what's coming her way. Writing all this down has increased my dread of starting school again tomorrow. Damn it. 

_Monday 12th of January _

Today was a bad day. I did not like it. It was one of those dissatisfactory days when nothing useful happens and you feel as though you have achieved nothing. It is the first night of term and already I feel the weight of too much homework pressing down on me. I'm behind before I've started. Maybe tomorrow will be a better day. I highly doubt it. 

Oh yes, and this morning at breakfast Black put a spell on my porridge so that the entire first mouthful changed into a writhing mass earthworms as soon as I closed my mouth around it. That'll teach me to speak my mind. 


	9. Looming Darkness

_DISCLAIMER_: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**The Truth**

****

_LOOMING DARKNESS _

_Saturday 17th of January_

Dear Diary,

How goes it with you? Is life tucked under my duvet as stimulating as shivering inside a classroom is? Is your head filled with inane bits of information about obscure topics of learning? Did a juvenile delinquent with black hair and a crush on one of your best friends instruct a poltergeist to pour a gallon of freezing cold _milk _down the back of your robes?

No?

Didn't think so.

Sorry if I'm being sarcastic and mean, but really, you do have a better time of it. You don't even have to worry if you're insane or not because you're talking to your diary as if it is a real person. In fact, you don't have to worry about _anything._ You're just a few sheets of paper stuck between a few thicker sheets of paper. Oh how I envy you at this moment.

The first week back after Christmas was absotively posolutely _super_. Among other things (as I have hinted at above), Black has begun stalking Tory around the castle and trying to impress her with ingenious plan after ingenious plan (according to him anyway) to get into the Ravenclaw common room. Tory (to appease me more than anything else I fear), has been steadfastly ignoring most of his advances, but it's only a matter of time I think. For example, this morning in Charms we were revising cheering charms from fourth year and Black wriggled his way into partnering Tor (I had tried to get Toby to intervene and claim Black as _his _partner by sign language but being the utter fool that he is he didn't see me). As you can imagine, a charm that can reduce many to a state of giggling idiocy is an ideal way to get someone to laugh at just about anything you say. The first weakening of Tor's guard, mark my words.

Another thing to add to my week of miseries is, in two words, Eggy Crilmer. You see, I had completely forgotten the promise I had made to him late last term.

"_Lily!_," he exclaimed as he first sighted me making a quick exit from the great hall on Tuesday morning.

"Eggy," I said, with somewhat less enthusiasm.

"We have to make the presentation today!" I was completely nonplussed, and I must have looked it, "You know, the one on how the ability to perform Travelling Charms is beneficial to all?"

"Oh yes," I sighed, remembering all too clearly how Eggy had roped me in with small guilt-trips about my not contributing to the Charms club enough. Looking at his bright, enthusiastic face you would not guess at the devious mind beneath.

"Indeed. I'm sorry to say that since you weren't at yesterday's meeting (who does he think he is scheduling a meeting on the first day of school?) most of the big speaking parts in the presentation have been taken," he said importantly, and I gazed at him in dull horror, wondering exactly what kind of 'presentation' this was going to be. He was describing it as if it was a play.

"So I'm afraid you'll have to help hold the posters and perhaps read out a few of the headings," he continued. I was somewhat relieved but I still did not relish the thought of standing up in front of the entire school with Eggy and his gang.

"So we'll meet outside the great hall half an hour before dinner?" he concluded, grinning excitedly. I nodded numbly and went to class with a sinking feeling in my stomach. The feeling turned into a lump of lead when Sirius began to shoot spitballs at the back of my head.

And so it was that at half-past six on Tuesday night I was to be found standing next to Eggy and five other charms fanatics in front of the teacher's table, facing the whole school, and sporting a large piece of cardboard which read, 'Get In With The Travelling Frenzy Now!" I hardly remember anything about what was said, or even what I said (some rubbish about Fabulous Shrinking Carry Cases no doubt). All I was aware of was the thousand or so faces staring directly at me (or so I felt), some looking bewildered, some bored, but for the most part wearing the traditional oh-what-losers smirk. This was especially apparent at the Slytherin table (no Slytherins in the Charms Club obviously), where I could see Bellatrix Black (Sirius' sinisterly beautiful cousin who has a strange and disconcerting dislike for me) looking on in distaste. But it was no better to look at the Gryffindor table, where James Potter sat staring straight at me with a peculiarly blank look on his face, and Remus Lupin sat beside him, his sickly face even more unsettling than ever. Thankfully the Gryffindor half of Clan Black was not present – I hoped he was on detention or something. Curiously, Celine wasn't there either so I couldn't catch anyone's eye. I instead settled for the Ravenclaw table where I am quite well liked and was able to meet Tory's sympathetic gaze.

Finally the embarrassment was over and Dumbledore thanked us and made some enthusiastic little comment about how useful the talk had been, all the while with one of those infuriating little twinkles in his eye. Feeling that this was too much, I dared to glare at him, earning myself a benign smile and a wink. I trudged out of the Great Hall last, so as to avoid talking to anyone.

_Monday 19th of January_

I've been having yet another depressing day. Do you know it's only just hit home to me really seriously that it's my last year at Hogwarts? I've only half a year and then its out to the real world for me. And I'm starting to wonder if there's much hope for even that, because the Dark Lord Voldemort seems to be more in control than ever. The more fearful among us dare not even utter his name anymore. It is strange that a thing like an ongoing war can so little affect a person who is not personally involved. We are so sheltered here at Hogwarts – we hear titbits from the newspapers and that's it. It's not like a muggle war – with armies and guns, it's kind of separate. But it _is _a war. The auror's are trying to defeat the darkwizards, and the darkwizards are trying to take over the world. I really should be more afraid of that thought. I suppose I should be worried about my parents – all the other muggleborns are. The deaths of twenty muggles due to their being in the way of a deatheater's pursuit of an auror can do that to people, let alone the fact that Voldemort has been killing off muggle relatives of those he despises for years – along with those he despises of course. And the growing feeling is that he despises everyone. But I can't really get my head around it, even after seven years. It hasn't affected me directly, and even with the deaths of the Potters hanging over us, I can't even begin to accept that I might die, or someone I love might die, very soon. So I'm numb. Or heartless, as Lina Matherson remarked last night when I wasn't reduced to tears by the reading out of a newspaper article about auror Frank Longbottom's discovery of torture victims in the underground basement of a suspected deatheater. Perhaps I've never been in to public displays of emotion. Or perhaps I _am _heartless.

_Monday 26th of January_

Professor Lallie told us today that we would need to concoct our very own non-dangerous potion as an assessment task for our NEWT levels. I'm feeling about as unimaginative as I can get, so I've no idea what I'm going to do. All I can hear is Professor McGonagall's voice saying "The key to the large-scale transfiguration is all in the decisiveness of your wand movement…" Over and over again. I think Professor McGonagall has a serious problem, actually. I decided this last Friday when she gave us double the homework because we had missed out on a lesson due to an information assembly about what to do in the event of a deatheater attack on the school. This put most of the student body into a state of highly strung, barely-suppressed fear, so even if they _wanted _to do homework they were too jittery to do it. The famous four have been doing their utmost to cheer everyone up, but most people don't want to be cheered up and have been taking it as disrespect towards the dead, so it hasn't been working.

"I've never been so unpopular in my life," said Potter, coming over to where I was attempting homework.

"Do you good," I said shortly. The invading of my house incident was still fresh in my mind, as was my alarming attraction to him.

"Unfortunately Sirius doesn't know when to stop," he continued as if I hadn't spoken. I looked over to where Black was still doing a remarkable impression of Snape in potions class.

"I think he knows perfectly well but goes on anyway," I said sourly, admiring his right hand index fingernail (the only part of him I could see because I had my eyes fixed on my work).

"Sorry, forgot you were soft on old Snivellus," he joked feebly. I rolled my eyes, but didn't rise (I'm not in the mood for another raging argument),

"Don't suppose you know who first discovered how to become an animagus?" I asked doubtfully, trying to glean something useful from the conversation.

"John Murphy, 1278," he said promptly,

"JohnMurphy_?"_

"That was his name." I stared at him,

"How d'you know that? You haven't done your homework yet!"

"If weren't expecting and answer, why did you ask?" he smiled ambiguously, "I know many things…,"

"Alright, alright, thanks I suppose," I said grudgingly, carefully writing 'John Murphy' onto my parchment and trying not to feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"That's ok," he said, wandering away to join Lupin and Pettigrew, who were watching Black and looking slightly ill. Celine flopped down beside me,

"Toby's got a boil behind his ear," she said. I sighed.

_Saturday 31st of January_

Sirius Black has laid off on Tory finally. Unfortunately I've been observing a slightly wistful look in Tor's eyes when I jubilantly remind her of this fact, so I'm sure this is not the end of it. Anyway, there's less than two weeks until Petunia's wedding. To think, soon I could well be an Aunt. I know it sounds horrible, but God help any child of _theirs_. I got a letter from Petunia today. The first one ever. It said,

_Lily,_

_Mother made me write. Don't feel as if I'm concerning myself over you. I'm not. The Wedding's been moved forward a fortnight – so it's the Wednesday after next. Mother says she'll pick you up at station whatever it is on Tuesday afternoon. As she's dictating most of this to me, I have to ask you to invite a friend (Mother says Celine Varaten), but only if your school  will let you – which I'm sure they won't. And you can't be late because the rehearsal is on Tuesday night, and you are not going to be the one to who is going to ruin my wedding._

_Petunia  _

P.S_ If you bring Celine Varaten I will personally make your life a living hell_

Obviously mother has forgotten that the Hogwart's express does not run all through the term. I shall have to inform her of her error and ask Dumbledore to organise a port key. I wonder if its legal for him to do that. Why didn't I take that apparation test in the holidays? I'm sure I could do it, I know all the theory. Damn. The letter was delightful, no? Sometimes I wish I was friends with my big sister, but only when I'm _really _losing a grip on my sanity.

_Sunday 8th of February_

Alright Diary. I didn't actually think I was going to write all this down. But I will, because I'm dogged, and I need to think about _something_.

Well, it's happened. That information assembly two weeks ago was no joke. The fear _that_ generated had all but worn off until tonight (or yesterday night as it's just turned one minute past twelve and is therefore Monday the 9th of February). In fact, Sunday morning's news about Regulus Black had the opposite affect to what I would have thought. Perhaps I was wrong to the think that the news of the death of a fellow student, no matter how offensive he was, would strike fear and sadness into the hearts of all. Rumours flew of course, but they were the kind of rumours that people like Lina Matherson talk about in loud matter-of-fact tones and which often get the response, "Served him right if you ask me," and "Always knew he was a creep." More often than not in this case, comments like, "Oh well, this'll be a blow to the Blacks all right!" and "Don't know how Sirius stood him." Typically, the only people who kept silent about the whole affair were his Slytherin friends and relatives, who, I suppose, knew a thing or two about it all along.

Dumbledore told us about it at breakfast. Looking unusually grave, he stood up in his place at the table and called for silence. Tory, Celine and I looked at each other.

"I feel it is my duty to inform you of the fate of one of our former students," he began, speaking slowly and clearly. Sirius Black, who was sitting across from me, gave a sudden and involuntary movement. That was how I got an inkling of what was to come.

"I have no wish to make this harder for his friends and relatives," said Dumbledore, "So I shall be brief. As you already know, Regulus Black of sixth year disappeared earlier in the semester," At once there was an outbreak of murmuring, but Dumbledore held up his hand,

"It greatly pains me to say that we now know that his intent was to join the ranks of Lord Voldemort," there was a collective shudder at the name, "And now he has perished at the hands of his master. I shall not go into details but let it suffice to say that he did not like what he found in the ring of deatheaters and attempted to escape. And there is no escape except death from that particular order, I am afraid," he said somewhat imperiously, and I fancied he stole a glance at the Slytherins as he said it. "I think we can say that although severely misguided, poor Regulus had no full knowledge of what he was getting himself into. We must persevere to prevent others like him from succumbing to the same fate." With that Dumbledore sat down, and the room was completely silent for some minutes. Sirius Black sat straight backed and completely still with a strange, twisted grimace on his face. Potter had one hand on his shoulder and Lupin looked terribly anxious. Everyone else was staring at them, half-curious half in horror. Across at the Slytherin table I saw Bellatrix Black whisper something to her boyfriend Lestrange. Apparently Sirius saw it too, and was enraged by it, because he stood up and bellowed,

"Why don't you go die in a hole, you little _cow-_" Potter cut him off by dragging him back into his seat, whispering urgently in his ear. By now the whole school was staring at them, and out of the corner of my eye, I could see Professor McGonagall advancing on us. Bellatrix had obviously found another way to incense her cousin, for he leapt up again,

"_Manipulative bitch!_ Like controlling idiots do you? Can't imagine they're so good for a shag though," He added loudly, glaring pointedly at Lestrange.

"Enough!" said Professor McGonagall said piercingly, "Mr Black, come with me!"

"Old _hag_," hissed Tory astonishingly, "He's just lost his brother and-"

"Shutup Tory," Celine hissed, elbowing her,

"Hey-"

"Shh,"

McGonagall and Black strode out of the great hall, leaving everyone to ponder (in loud voices) the significance of the recent news.

"But I thought he hated Regulus," said someone,

"Wow, that sure showed Bellatrix," said someone else. I thought it was all rather gross, so I left the great hall fifteen minutes early to collect my books.

I was halfway there by the time I realised Potter had followed me.

"Hello Evans," he said gloomily, falling into step with me,

"Hello," I said shortly, willing him to go away so I could think about the imminent threat of Lord Voldemort instead of his unhealthily attractive face.

"Before this all happened Sirius and I were talking about formally apologising for coming to your house in the holidays," he continued

"Yeah?" I said incredulously, "How charitable of you,"

"Yeah," he blushed, "So I'm sorry,"

"Ah good. Maybe next time you could bring yourself to apologise, say, within two to three weeks? If it's not too much trouble for you," my voice literally dripped sarcasm (I find anger keeps the soppy emotions under wraps)

 "Wasn't all that polite in retrospect," he said in a small voice.

"No it wasn't," suddenly we were both speaking in monotone and it would have been comical if the mood wasn't so terrible.

"Sirius is sorry too,"

"Yes, and Professor McGonagall is a cross dresser who goes to parties held by Lucius Malfoy," I kicked myself. Had I just spoken with the intent of making James Potter laugh?

"How do you know about those? No, really he _is _sorry," He half-laughed,

"Oh yes, racked with guilt is he? Suppose those worms on the first day back were his idea of an apology? Find time to fret about my state of mind while grieving for his brother, did-" I broke off, embarrassed, "Sorry. That was insensitive." My sarcasm had run away with me, and I felt perfectly awful for some reason.

"It takes quite a lot to make Sirius feel guilty," he said, in a slightly dark tone of voice. For some reason, I shivered. Unfortunately I knew the shivery feeling hadn't had _everything _to do with Potter's implication about Sirius' character. I didn't say anything for a while, but he still kept walking with me. I glanced around, regretting my decision to stay behind from everyone else.

"I'm sorry about Regulus," I said quietly. This seemed to spark something in Potter.

"Why should _you_ be sorry?" he asked, "Regulus is the one who should be sorry!" he said vehemently. I felt slightly sick. The whole business was horrible.

"Dumbledore did say he didn't know what he was getting into-"

"Oh, I'd say he had a bloody good idea of it. Joining Voldemort isn't something you'd take on lightly, even if you were a stupid little prick," he said, "And even if Bella-the-bitch _was _psyching you up for it," he added, his face twisted in disgust. I felt a chill run down my spine, and the dark-haired girl's face rose in my mind, pale and serene and smiling ambiguously. Was this confirmation that she is a deatheater?

"Oh, we don't think she's one of them yet – wouldn't be safe for her here, would it? But give her a year or two…" Potter waved his arms, answering my unspoken question.

"But he was still so young," I said after a while, "No one deserves…"

"Death? Then what do they deserve, Evans? Life, when other _good_ people suffer?" he said, incensed.

"I don't know…"

"He made his choice. His parents put their money on the wrong son!"

"What are you talking about…Oh, never mind," Why was I arguing? It was not by business what he thought.

"Sirius is a _good_ person," continuing Potter, half ranting, "And look at the crap he gets from his family. My parents were good people, and they're _dead!" _I was touched by what he was saying, but I also thought he wasn't himself.

"Yeah, look, I'm sorry Potter. I didn't mean to offend you, I'm probably not a good person for you to talk to. Was there anything else you wanted?" I said it in a rush, feeling disturbed by his presence.

"I didn't _want_ anything."

"Well then why are you following me?"

"Not following you. Going to our common room," he said tonelessly. I gave him an odd look,

"There's something wrong with you," I stated impulsively.

"Of course there isn't! Don't you just hate school?" he said, randomly changing the subject. I wondered if someone had put a bit of something in his drink.

"I think you're off you're head," I said somewhat tentatively, wanting to get rid of him but at the same time savour his presence (it's awful I know).

"Could be," he replied, still downcast.

"Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey,"

"Worried about my health again are we?" he said suddenly, in a strange, high-pitched voice, a glint in his eye.

"Oh-"

"Maybe you _do _actually adore me?" he said loudly, "And all this stuffing around over the years has been a façade to hide you're true feelings!" he cried madly, "You've been rejecting me all this time, but really it was because you knew what people would say if you gave in! You're in it for the reputation aren't you? I knew it! I knew you couldn't resist-"

"That's shit," I interrupted quietly, shocking myself (I don't usually swear), and at the same time gaining confidence,

"And you know it, I think," I added boldly, for I suddenly new with a great conviction that he _did _know. He knew exactly how much rubbish had come out of his mouth over the last few years. _He _was the one with the façade. I felt suddenly calm, and I stared him right in the face (fatal attraction and all).

"You're right," he said miserably, "It is shit. I'm a shit head." I cringed. I was not used to people like him talking like this. It was disturbing.

"If you're looking for sympathy, I'm not really the right person-"

"Argh! See, now you pity me! I, who have been the _epitome_ of popularity, and I _still am_, but it's not worth anything. Nothing at all! I've known for a long time now." I did not know what to say. I felt I shouldn't have had to deal with this. Lupin or someone should be here instead of me. I began desperately,

"Well I think you're depressed  - I mean even _I'll _admit you're not as bad as you're making yourself out to be, I mean, you _do _have three true friends, even if they wouldn't be _my_ first choice…" I trailed off and he suddenly laughed,

"I'm going to keep quiet now, Lily Evans, for I seem to have won _some _favour with you. Maybe I should try this wallowing in self pity thing more often!" and with that he wandered of down a set of stairs leading off from the main corridor,

"I'll just go make sure Sirius doesn't blame himself for Regulus' death or start mourning for him or anything," he called over his shoulder, as if his maniacal outburst had never been, "And thanks," he added as an afterthought. He was obviously out of his mind. I wondered if I should inform someone. But then I brushed it off, somewhat irresponsibly, thinking that it was probably depression caused by too much death and would pass by tomorrow.

"Bastard," I whispered confusedly to myself, feeling the need to add to the steady stream of profanity that seemed to have been rampant all morning. Problem was, I knew I didn't really mean it.

The rest of the day went by quite peacefully. No one could bring themselves to be truly horrified at Regulus' death, as it seemed so far removed from the present; he had disappeared weeks ago. Sirius Black came back to classes after lunch and behaved fairly normally the whole time.

"He did have it coming to him," I heard Sirius say casually to Lupin, "The parents will be proud of him," he added,

"It's terrible," replied Lupin.

"Yeah it is. But it's hardly got anything to do with me anymore. It's not like he was _really _a brother to me. If only he wasn't such a stupid idiot."

"Will you go to the funeral if they have one?"

"Might do. Depends who goes,"

I didn't want to hear any more after that. Suddenly I wondered how I would feel if Petunia died. A morbid thought, I know, but seriously, would I cry at her funeral? I felt utterly disgusted at myself for the rest of the lesson.

As usual at dinnertime, everyone was in the great hall at the same time. For some reason, Lina Matherson was playing cards with Eliane. They were flinging cards every which way at high speeds and concentrating furiously, and I quickly decided that I didn't want to know what was going on. Tory, who had  been quiet all day, was staring up at the enchanted ceiling, a blank look in her eyes, and Celine and Toby, silent as well, had their arms around each other and were earning the occasional disapproving glare from Professor McGonagall. The Marauders were sitting apart for a change. Pettigrew sat with Louisa and Theresa, whispering quietly, Lupin wasn't there, and Potter sat alone. Sirius had taken himself to the Slytherin table and was sitting with his other cousin, Andromeda Black of fifth year. He had a burning look in his eye that was practically daring anyone, including Bellatrix and McGonagall, to protest.

I was helping myself to some steak and kidney pie, when there was a thump and the great wooden doors of the hall were flung open, and Remus Lupin came hurtling in, white faced and tripping over his own feet, and dashed towards the teacher's table.


	10. Remus Lupin and Other Animals

_DISCLAIMER_: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**The Truth**

_REMUS LUPIN AND OTHER ANIMALS_

The teachers all stood up at once, and I saw Dumbledore's eyes widen in uncharacteristic fear as he saw who Lupin was. I had no time to ponder it, because in the shocked silence Lupin had started to speak,

"Deatheaters," he gasped, and I wondered if he was going to have a heart attack,

"In the school…I saw them Professor…planning something," he clutched his stomach, and he was trembling from head to foot. Surely he couldn't be _that _scared? Of course, panic had broken out from his first words. It was kind of strange that no one thought  it was some kind of hoax (my first cynical notion). They all believed him straight away, and many people were already attempting to run, though where they thought they were going I don't know. Lina, Louisa and Theresa were clinging to each other, already whimpering, and Peter Pettigrew was white as chalk. I myself could feel a bolt of real fear in the pit of my stomach; Hogwarts was supposed to be impregnable.

"_Quiet_," shouted Professor McGonagall, her voice magically magnified to rise above the growing hysteria. "Remain in your seats. Do not panic. There are magical barriers on this room. It is doubtful that anyone could break in without Dumbledore's permission." Everyone ignored her. I didn't think her tone of voice was all that comforting. She sounded as if doomsday had just been announced and we had minutes to live. Then I realised with a painful jolt that this could well be a possibility.

"_Evans_," someone shouted, and I whirled around. It was Potter. Suddenly I remembered that I was in fact, Head girl. Panicking slightly, I leaned across the table to hear Potter. He seemed to have emerged from his sullen silence, and was looked quite energetic, as if the fear had woken him up.

"What do we do?" I asked,

"Dumbledore'll tell us," he said, almost excitedly, "We have to get them to stay calm though," with that he tapped his throat with his wand and succeeded where McGonagall could not,

"_SILENCE_," he bellowed at the top of his magically enhanced voice. The effect was deafening, and everyone was paralysed into silence. The teachers cringed at the noise but still shot grateful looks in his direction.

"As you presumably already know," began Potter arrogantly, "I am James Potter, your Head Boy," the crowd tittered a bit at this, and Potter smiled, "And I'd just liked to ask you to remain calm, because we don't know the full details, and there's no sense in panicking unless it's absolutely necessary. You will all be protected from invaders by the teachers and I'm sure word of this will get to the Ministry Anytime now," he cocked an eyebrow at the teachers and Dumbledore nodded ascent, "So just stay cool and try to remember that talk we had on safety," he finished, sitting down again. I was surprised to notice that the babble that followed was not nearly as wild as it had been before. I looked at Potter, who was now reassuring Lina Matherson (who had been reduced to tears) that everything would be all right, and shook my head. He was so confident, even though he knew next to nothing about what was going on. I wondered if he had fully regained his sanity from this morning. I looked to Dumbledore again, and noticed that Lupin was now making his way over to the table, staggering and panting. The teachers, who had been conferring, were now hurrying towards the door, and beckoning for Potter and I to follow.

"All prefects to the door please," yelled Potter as soon as we got there.

"Right," said Dumbledore calmly, "Mr Lupin says the enemies were situated outside the hospital wing. Also, Madame Pomfrey may be in trouble – Remus says he wasn't able to find her there." He then went on to instruct the teachers on how they were to go about the attack, sending them away in pairs. He told the prefects to guard the Great Hall as well as the Entrance hall. The remainder of the students were to rest on the floor when the tables had been moved. He didn't advise anyone to sleep.

"What about me?" asked Potter. Dumbledore gave him a level look,

"James, I think that Remus-"

"_Shit. I forgot!_," shouted James suddenly, staring at Dumbledore, horror in his eyes. Without another word, he dashed back towards his friend, with me staring incredulously after him. Turning to Dumbledore, I found that he had already disappeared. Blinking, I turned to the prefects,

"Jess, you and Jude take a window each.…Sam and David – You stand by this door and Laura and Andrew, stand by the side entrance…" my eyes narrowed unconsciously as I eyed the two Slytherin Prefects, Kelly Gardener and Peter Blanc.

"You two come with me to watch the entrance hall." They all obeyed me unquestioningly, and I felt a little surge of pleasure. I made my way out into the Entrance hall. There were two staircases and a corridor leading off it. One opening each. I wondered bleakly what students like us could possibly do in a crisis. Kelly gave a nervous laugh,

"We wouldn't have much chance if they _did _come this way," she said softly, as if reading my thoughts. Peter, a sullen boy with a sharp face and beady eyes, merely grunted and went to stand by the side-corridor. A second later, Potter and Black appeared, supporting Lupin between them. I hurried over, the unspoken question written all over my face. Black just looked away impatiently, but Potter grimaced and said nothing. Lupin looked barely conscious; his head was rolling around on his shoulders and the whites of his eyes had become milky and unfocused. He was walking, but only just. I stared into his eyes, and some inexplicable horror seemed to jump out at me from his feverish face.

"There's something wrong with him," I said pointlessly, "What are we going to do?" out of the corner of my eye, I could see Kelly looking on curiously. Peter just looked bored.

"Just stay inside, ok?" mumbled Potter, pushing Lupin towards the front door of the castle. They weren't taking him _outside,_ were they?

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Shutup Evans," hissed Black over his shoulder. They were out the door now, and it was closing behind them. Impulsively, I ordered Peter and Kelly to stay where they were, and slipped out after the other three. I had this awful feeling of impending doom. The scene unfolding before me was something out of a horror film. Lupin, Black and Potter had been hobbling on normally when Lupin suddenly gave a great shudder, his whole body going rigid. His friends clung on to him tighter.

"Just hold on, mate," I heard Potter mutter, "Can you just hold on for little bit more? We're not safe yet, Moony." That was his nickname for Lupin. But the fair-haired boy didn't respond, if indeed he could hear him.

"We have to hurry, Prongs," whispered Black, trying to get them to move faster. But he failed, because at that moment there was a great feral roar, and Potter and Black sprang away from their friend, leaving him to crumple to the floor.

I looked around for the source of the noise, comprehension still not dawning on me. But then it became obvious when the noise sounded again, and Lupin's writhing body suddenly leapt to it's feet, and thick fur seemed to sprout from nowhere on his body. His robes were in tatters within seconds – and I witnessed by first full-blown were-wolf transformation. I don't think I was really taking much in at that point. I don't even remember thinking, 'oh my God, Lupin's a were-wolf' or 'oh why didn't I realise sooner, it all makes sense now,' or anything of the sort. All I was aware of was a slightly nauseous feeling in my stomach and the overpowering need to do something. For Potter and Black were still getting to their feet, and the monster that had been Lupin was baring down on them, its elongated, salivating jaws snapping the air furiously. Its large greyish-gold eyes, disturbingly alike to Lupin's, were mad with bloodlust and I knew that whatever friendships he had in human form, they were now irrelevant.

"_Potter_," I yelled uselessly, and to my horror, he turned around at the sound of my voice, leaving his back exposed to the monster. As he realised who I was, his face contorted horribly and he yelled,

"Get back Evans! Go back inside!" numb with fear, I ignored him, stepping closer.

"I said _get back!"_ Potter desperately backed away from the snarling beast, who was looking from one boy to the other, obviously deciding which to attack first.

"Prongs," shouted Black, "We'll have to change," he was panting, but surprisingly he did not look afraid.

"What about Evans?" said Potter, and then I realised that he'd only begun to look afraid after he'd seen _me_.

"We'll have to shut her up somehow. Worry about it later!" Puzzlement sliced through my fear. What were they talking about? But I had no more time to ponder the matter, for without warning, Lupin spotted me and sprang without hesitation. His huge, insane wolf-face filled my vision and I knew with an absolute certainty that I was going to die. I felt somehow detached from my body, as if I were watching the scene on television or something. I noticed the most minute details, like the individual drops of saliva spraying out from his jaws, and the little red veins on his strange, bulging eyeballs. I don't think I even screamed. Screwing up my face, I braced myself for the inevitable crunch. But of course it never came. For at that moment a large, blurred shape sprang out of nowhere and the wolf was knocked aside, sprawling on the ground.

I took a deep breath (realising I had somehow managed to hold it for the entire episode) and clutched my stomach. My eyes must have popped out of my head when I saw that my rescuer was a _deer_. A stag, to be exact. A big, beautiful, brown-coloured stag had leapt in front of me and was now bearing down on the were-wolf. Even I (who does not go in for nature-programs or National Geographic) knew this was not normal deer behaviour. And no sooner had I registered that I was in fact still alive, and had been miraculously saved by a previously unknown example of Hogwart's wildlife, a big, shaggy black dog came up from behind me and joined the deer, which appeared to be trying to herd the monster in the direction of the forest. I stood stock still, tingling slightly with the residue of my fear, and watched as the three figures made of towards the Forbidden Forest, the were-wolf making odd keening noises every now and then as it received a hoof in the face or a nip on the shoulder. I don't know how long I stood there, staring after them, unable to collect my jumbled thoughts, but I do know that it took a large explosion-like sound from back inside the entrance hall to bring me to my senses.

Knowing that if I stopped to think about what could possibly have happened to Potter and Black, or where the animals had come from then I would probably shut down completely, I hurried inside and thought about Kelly and Peter. Would I found them lying dead and bleeding in the wreckage? Actually, the Entrance hall look exactly the same as when I had left it – save the two guards were no-where to be seen. Managing  to block the were-wolf experience from my thoughts, I raced into the great hall, heart pounding at the thought that whatever had happened to the two Slytherins was partly my fault. It occurred to me to tell someone about Lupin, but then I realised that if he had been living at Hogwart's then the teachers must know. I wouldn't interfere until I knew all the facts. I was impressed at my own ability to think straight, though I still shied away from the rest of what had happened. Everything seemed normal in the Great Hall, and the prefects at the door way looked surprised,

"What's wrong?" one asked. Obviously the noise from both outside and even the Entrance hall had never reached them.

"I don't know," I gasped, "Did you hear a thump before?"

"No?"

"Have you seen Kel and Peter?"

"No, What-"

Without stopping to explain I told them stay where they were and remain calm, and raced back out again. I was panicking. Had the two fifth years been kidnapped? I could not tell what had happened. I wondered fearfully what I should do. I was not trained to deal with this kind of situation. I had an overpowering wish for Potter to be there. Even if he had as little idea of what to do as I, at least it would not _all _rest on my shoulders. Shrugging away this selfish thought, I decided that I had to find Dumbledore and tell him what had happened. What had the thump been? And if it _was _deatheaters, why hadn't they attacked the great hall? It was all too much. Deciding on a route, I started up the stairs, trying not to let fear swamp me. It was like when I was little and I was two scared to go into the upstairs of our house alone because it was too dark and there might be something up there, except it was ten times worse. I kept imagining dark figures leaping out and putting an end to me at every corner. I regretted my decision to leave the safety of numbers. It was not, I reasoned, entirely my fault Kelly and Peter had disappeared – I had had to go after the Potter, Lupin and Black. I had thought Lupin was sick, and that they were going to do something daft with him. I was walking very slowly now, hardly making a sound. Moonlight fell in through the windows, and I could see my elongated shadow with its long braid swinging eerily behind its back. A suit of armour creaked, and I almost jumped out of my skin. Who would have thought I was such a scaredy-cat? I had already had one near-death experience tonight – you would have thought it would have made me ready for anything. But there's nothing like being alone in the dark to give you the creeps. That was why I gave such a blood-curdling scream when I walked smack-bang into Professor McGonagall, who had been creeping stealthily out from a side door.

"Shhh!" she hissed angrily, "What are you doing here? Go back at once! Head Girl should know better-"

"Professor," I almost sobbed with relief, "I have to tell you something," I looked up as Professor Lallie appeared behind McGonagall.

"Kelly Gardener and Peter Blanc disappeared from the Entrance Hall! I don't know what happened to them-"

"_What?"_ Professor McGonagall yelped.

"You see, I followed Potter and Black outside because-"

"What? Outside? What were the fools thinking-"

"Professor, just let me finish," I said, slightly irritated, "I don't know if you know, but Lupin-"

"Lupin? Oh," colour drained from McGonagall's face, "He was at dinner tonight, wasn't he. What happened?"

"He – he's a _were-wolf_, I mean, I can't think how he attends school-"

"That's none of your business, Miss Evans, just get on with it!" snapped McGonagall

"He changed and then-" I was interrupted by a loud noise from behind,

"_Evans_!" shouted a familiar voice from the end of the corridor. I turned around incredulously. There was James Potter, large as life, and looking very worried. Where had he come from? Or more importantly, where had he gone _to_?

"_Quiet_," hissed McGonagall, "You do know there's a deatheater attack going on, don't you?" she said, reminding us all of the cold hard truth. Potter came over to us.

"Professor, I'm sorry to say we couldn't get Remus to the whomping willow in time," he said quickly, and I couldn't even begin to fathom what he was talking about. McGonagall looked concerned,

"Well where is he then? Were any of you hurt?"

"No, we're fine, Sirius is downstairs now. We had to let Remus go – I suppose he's in the forest by now,"

"How did you ever escape?" Professor Lallie, white as a sheet, spoke for the first time.

"Oh, we just made a dash for it back inside the castle," said Potter, a little too casually. I opened my mouth to contradict  him but was silenced  by a vicious pinch on the arm. I gave a cry of pain, but the teachers were too distracted to notice, and I glared uncomprehendingly at Potter. He shook his head slightly and I stayed silent, resolving to get the full truth out of him later.

"I just hope Lupin stays in the forest. No one should be out on the grounds tonight, at least, and Hagrid will be alright in his hut. But Blanc and Miss Gardener? You said they've disappeared?"

 Again I opened my mouth, but Potter talked smoothly over me,

"They're all right," he said, "I found them unconscious in the hall broom-cupboard." I gaped. Why hadn't I thought of that? Fortunately the darkness hid my blush.

"They're resting in the great hall now. I don't know what happened to them."

"Well _why didn't you wait to find out?"_ hissed McGonagall. Potter looked uncomfortable for some reason,

"Well-"

"Oh, it doesn't matter. I don't understand what's going on. Obviously they were attacked by deatheaters, though why they just left it at that I can't imagine. I'll inform Dumbledore of what's going on-"

"What _is_ going on with his side of things?" asked Potter,

"They haven't found the intruders yet – Oh, I'm wasting time – you, Potter, and Miss Evans are to guard the entrance hall now in case they come back. Take this." She held out a curious little purple crystal, and I took it in my hand before Potter could reach for it.

"Simply say 'Communication On' and tap it with your wand. It will alert anyone with another crystal and you will be able to speak into it,"

"Like a walkie-talkie?" I winced as she gave me an odd look,

"Yes, I suppose. Use it only in emergency – that is, if the deatheaters come back."

"Alright then," I said, "Good luck," and Potter and I turned and trudged back the way we had come. It was not nearly as scary as it had been, partly because I was still burning at the thought that I hadn't thought to look anywhere but the obvious for Peter and Kelly, and partly because someone else was there. We walked in silence – I thought this might encourage him to speak voluntarily about what was going on with Lupin – and those strange animals. I felt instinctively that he knew something about them. And all that fast talking with McGonagall had all the signs of a cover-up, even though Potter was quite a good liar. I heaved a great sigh. Today had been the oddest of days in all respects, and I felt suddenly, in the quiet darkness alone with James Potter, that I was losing my grip on reality. By the time we got back to the entrance hall he still hadn't said anything. We both took out our wands and strode to positions against opposite walls without conferring. I was obscured by a large Gryffindor hanging and James was half-hidden by a statue of Helga Hufflepuff. I think we both felt that if the death-eaters _did _come, we didn't want to be spotted straight away. We waited.

It turned out that our casual concealment was probably what saved our lives. I'm sure neither of us noticed the man in the doorway until he had been there for at least a minute. He was wearing a black cloak and mask – a typical deatheater, and he had his wand held cautiously before him. I glanced over at Potter, whose face had gone white and taught. He put a finger too his lips. I glared at him; as if I needed telling. The deatheater at the door took a step forward. Distantly I could hear the quiet murmur from the Great Hall. My heart leapt into my throat as I began to visualise my own death at the hand's of Voldemort's minions. _Avada__ Kadava_ he would roar. Avada kadava, the killing curse…I would fall stone-dead on the floor, stiff and lifeless, my eyes wide with eternal horror…

I snapped myself out of it as I noticed Potter gesturing desperately to me.

"One," he mouthed, "Two….three…." I gulped, "Now!" without thinking at all I leapt to obey, charging out of my hiding spot, yelling incoherently. I ran forward, unaware of anything but the black-cloaked figure before me. I saw him react as if in slow-motion, though it must only have been a split-second. His cowled, masked face swung slowly around and I heard a sharp intake of breath,

"_Expelliarmus__!" _I shouted the disarming spell wildly, at the same time cursing myself for not using a stronger spell. Nevertheless, by some twist of fate, it worked, and I, a nervous youth of seventeen, wrested the wand from an experienced murderer. Sounds quite good written down, actually. Potter was not far behind me of course, and without checking his pace he hurled himself at the astonished enemy, knocking him down and bashing him over the head with the butt of a rusty axe he seemed to have acquired from somewhere. I watched in dazed horror as the deatheater flopped into unconsciousness, a trickle of blood running from his forehead. Was he dead? If so, I was an accomplice in…

"_Potter_!" I gasped, clearing my head, "Why the _hell _didn't use a spell?" I realised I was trembling. Potter stopped checking the man over and looked up, looking slightly abashed,

"Oh," he said sheepishly, "Didn't occur to me…sorry," I rolled my eyes, and had I been a completely different character I would have said '_boys!'_

"He's not dead is he?"

"No, no, it was just the butt…"

"Where'd you get the axe?" I responded instantly so I wouldn't have to think of anything else,

"It was on Helga Hufflepuff's statue-"

"Helga Hufflepuff has an _axe?_"

"Not any more, it was so rusty it just broke right off-"

"What are we going to do?"

"Don't know-"

"I'll just tie him up then," I said, thanking Professor Dupinkay for imparting this kind of knowledge to me.

"I'll keep a look out for more-"

"Yes. Do that," Potter, who was beginning to look extremely young and afraid (As I'm sure I was too) glanced into the darkened hall through which our victim had come. After securing the man, I shoved him in the broom cupboard (not attempting irony) and joined Potter.

"Should we go back into the Great Hall?"

"No sense in panicking them," he muttered, running a bony hand through his hair.

"Yeah, but that was just luck – we can't hope to overpower another one," I said sensibly,

"Why not?"

"Shutup and think straight, Potter," I said like someone out of an action movie.

"What about that crystal?" he said, ignoring my waspish tones.

"Oh, I forgot, what's the spell again?" I said,

"Communication on," he said smartly.

"Ok," I took out the glittering object, "_Communication on_," I tapped it with my wand. Nothing happened for a second, but then it began to glow softly, emitting a strange noise not unlike the static from a radio. Potter leaned over my shoulder to get a better look.

"What now?" I asked foolishly,

"Talk into it," I looked doubtfully at the now vibrating crystal, and lifted it to my mouth,

"Professor?" I said quietly, "Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes?" rapped McGonagall's voice into the darkness. I sighed with relief,

"Professor, a deatheater came in but we've knocked him out. What do you want us to do?" there was an intake of breath at the other end of the…stone, or whatever, and I heard hushed whispers. McGonagall must be conferring with someone.

"Miss Evans?" a new voice sounded from the crystal. It was Dumbledore, and he sounded stressed. This did not bode well.

"Yes?" I said nervously, watching Potter bob up and down on the balls of his feet and wring his  hands together.

"We thought we had most of the deatheaters detained here – we sprung a group of them, I cannot think why they have been biding their time – but evidently there are others about. Miss Evans, both of you need to get back inside the Great Hall and keep everyone silent – a teacher will come. I repeat, _do not remain  in the entrance hall­­_," I gulped fearfully,

"Yes sir," I said

"Oh, and what have you done with the enemy?"

"He's tied up sir,"

"Good, I-" and suddenly the crystal went completely dead. I started and nearly dropped it. It was now cold lightless. Potter and I looked at each other and without speaking and hurried back towards the Great Hall.


	11. Operation Classroom

_DISCLAIMER_: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**The Truth**

_OPERATION CLASSROOM_

Everything seemed completely normal back in the Great Hall. It was odd to go from heart stopping danger to the peaceful murmurings of a hall full of children. Quickly I made a small speech, explaining little but impressing upon them the need to remain quiet. I had hoped to get something out of Peter Blanc and Kelly Gardener but Peter was still unconscious and Kelly didn't seem to remember what had happened at all. I suppose they must have been taken totally by surprise. I wondered morbidly why the deatheaters had not just killed them to be done with it. Mercy is not a trait commonly associated with any of the Dark Lord's minions. I knew there was something off about the whole thing but I couldn't do anything about it so I turned my mind to other matters.

The prefects were told to remain alert, and Potter and I, not quite sure what to do now, began to self-consciously patrol between the resting forms on the floor.

"We have to do something," said Potter half an hour later when there was still no sign of a teacher,

"Like what?"

"I don't know – oh, wait, I've just had an idea only you have to promise not to tell anyone!" Potter's face was suddenly alive with excitement.

"What?"

"Wait a second," with that he strode swiftly over to where Sirius Black (previously unnoticed by me) sat with his back to the wall, looking watchfully around the room. Lit up by the glow of the lantern above him, his face looked creepy, for his pitch-black eyes glared unblinkingly from a stark, angular face bereft of its usual handsome grin. Perfect for a vampire, I thought. Potter knelt beside his friend and had a hurried conversation. Within five minutes he was back beside me. He gave me a long, calculating look,

"Can I trust you?"

"What?" (my standard response)

"I have something that may be able to help us but you can't tell anyone about it," he said, looking at the floor.

"Is it illegal?" I asked suspiciously,

"No, at least I don't think so…"

"Does it endanger anyone?"

"No, no,"

"Exactly _how _much help would it be?" he looked suddenly irritated at my questioning,

"Quite _considerable,_ I should think,"

"Alright, go on," I said, knowing that I was on the brink of irrational and paralysing fear.

"It's a map," he said, holding up a piece of parchment. I raised his eyebrows. A map. How useful. Now would we all know where we were. Nonetheless, I took it from him and had a closer look. It was map, in minute detail, of the entire castle and its surrounds. And that was not all it was. It took me a minute to register, but written in miniscule handwriting (that only became readable once you took a good look at it) was name of every person on the premises – attached to a small dot showing their exact position. Even as I thought about it, my own dot seemed to come into focus among the mass of other student-dots in the great hall – and Potter's dot next to me. It was truly a marvel. I had never seen anything like it before. _This_ was how the famous Marauders had managed to get away with so much over the years. I stared at him, speechless,

"I – we – made it."

"What?"

"We made it. There's no time to explain. Now…Uh oh-" I looked down at he map, following his gaze. He was staring a huddle of dots all compacted into a classroom in the Eastern Tower. They all belonged to teachers.

"There's Dumbledore," I breathed, "Where are the deatheaters?" I suddenly realised that their were no foreign dots on the parchment.

"It's not faulty is it?" I asked, referring to the map.

"Of course it isn't," said Potter defensively, "It has never failed, although I suppose the deatheaters could have some kind of cloaking spell that it can't pick up.

"So what help is it then?" I said exasperatedly,

"Well it's better than nothing," he responded coldly.

"Hmm. So what are we going to do now?"

"Looks like the entire faculty are trapped in that room," said Potter gloomily, "I just can't think what the enemy is waiting for. Why not attack now while the ministry is still off the scene?"

"Oh yeah, I thought Dumbledore sent a message to them-"

"Probably got intercepted-"

"Damn-"

"So there's only one thing for it," said Potter, drawing himself up to his full height, "The fate of the school and everyone in it now rests solely in our hands," he proclaimed dramatically. I sighed. I didn't know how much longer I was going to be able to take this. What was one supposed to do in this situation? Sit tight and hope to goodness the teachers were in control, or send out a daring search party and risk the lives of friends and innocent students? Not much of a choice really. Suddenly I wished I had never become head girl. But then, the reasonable part of my mind said sternly, what would be happening now? Even I had to admit that things would probably be quite different if Lina Matherson were in charge. Probably everyone would be rushing out of the school in a mad panic, only to be eaten by a rampant were-wolf…I suppressed a shudder. _Were-wolf…_Remus Lupin was a were-wolf, were-wolves killed people and ruined lives…were-wolves were dark beasts…

"Evans?" Potter waved a hand in front of my face, "We have to organise a rescue party." Well at least someone had no trouble making up their mind.

"But the teachers said-"

"There may not be any teachers left to reprimand us if we don't," he pointed out in his most reasonable voice. I shuddered.

"Ok then…who?"

"Well, I think Sirius and me, maybe Toby, we can't have too many or we'll lose the element of surprise…"

"What about me?" I asked, glaring at him. Surely he didn't want to leave me out? He looked at the floor, scratching the back of his neck shiftily. He looked up. He was still looking very pale and his eyes were slightly bloodshot,

"I think perhaps you should stay here…make sure no one does anything stupid, you know-" I felt a stab of anger. He didn't think I was up for it. That much was obvious…he thought to leave the women behind while the men went bravely out to meet the enemy, the arrogant bastard…

"I think perhaps I shouldn't," I said coldly, "The prefects are perfectly capable of keeping them calm. I don't see why you want to take Toby, he's that timid (admittedly that was a bit harsh), and after all, I _am _Head girl." I was fully aware that I sounded like a whining child, but something about Potter's immediate (and probably quite sensible) decision to leave me behind that really got to me.

To my surprise, he didn't argue. Maybe he saw sense in my words (highly doubtful), or maybe he just couldn't be bothered, but he nodded resignedly and said,

"Well, alright, but Sirius is still coming-"

"Do you think it's wise to bring someone who – I mean – someone-"

"Someone who _what?_" growled Potter, "Would you rather bring _Celine?_ Or sweet little Tory?" I suppose he had a point. I scowled and acquiesced, knowing that we were wasting time. 

In what seemed like no time at all, we had given strict instructions to the prefects, collected Sirius Black and were back in the entrance hall. Solemnly, we all took how wands out and Potter drew out the map.

"Ok, he said, "We shall need my invisibility cloak." Sirius turned to look at him, his eyes burning with, to my surprise, raw excitement.

"I'll go get it," he whispered quickly, "No sense in us all going if their hiding in the Gryffindor Tower." I gaped at him. Things were rapidly getting out of control,

"Sirius," I said, using his first name to sound calming but only managing a kind of condescending whine, "We should not split up-"

"We may as well not go if we don't have the invisibility cloak, Evans," interjected Potter, "I'll go get it, Sirius, and you and Evans wait for me here."

"No, _I'm _getting it," retorted Sirius, his tone uncompromising, "I'm all hyped up." And with that, he had darted away and was taking the  main stairs two at a time while still managing to keep reasonably silent on the thick red carpet. James Potter sighed jadedly and ran his hand through his hair.

"So I guess now we wait. _Again_," I intoned, sitting down on the bottom step. We were silent for a few minutes, me fidgeting nervously with the split ends on my plait, Potter standing stock still with his wand raised. Left alone with nothing to do but look at him, I began to feel that warm, shivery feeling I had begun to know so well. How could I be like this? How? I almost giggled aloud. Potter's head swung round sharply at my involuntary movement and he raised his eyebrows. Fighting the urge to smile at him I returned his cool regard. He continued to stare at me for what felt like ages, unblinkingly. _Do not blush, do NOT blush, _I repeated to myself. Remarkably, I managed to prevent the heat from rushing to my face, though I was unable to stop from looking away self-consciously. I don't know if I imagined it, but when I looked up again it seemed his own pale cheeks had a slight pink tinge to them. I didn't want to think about what that could mean.

"About earlier today," he said suddenly, and there was a slight croak in his voice, "I'm afraid I must have come off as a complete nutter,"

"Why would you care what I think?" I asked, wanting, in some weird way for him to admit he _did _care. He didn't answer that of course; he just looked at me as if I was stupid, as if the answer was right in front of my face.

"I was feeling pretty…I don't know the word for it…kind of off the air. I can't explain it Evans, only it wasn't the real me! I don't usually act like that-" He was babbling. I had _never _seen Potter babble before, "I mean, my best friend's brother did just die, and all this stuff that's been happening-"

"Everyone has their off-days," I said, feeling embarrassed. But it was true. Goodness knows I have my fair share of off days. He looked surprised at my almost positive comment, and gratified, too. We didn't speak after that until Sirius came back, flushed and grinning that manic twist of the lips that so characterises him. He held up the silvery, liquid-like material that was Potter's cloak, and pulled it around himself. He held it up like a tent and gestured to Potter and I to join him. I felt a sharp jolt as my heart skipped beat. I hadn't thought about this. Get under the same cloak as James Potter? My raging hormones would probably cause me to explode…

But I steeled myself and stepped under the cloak, grimacing. I had horrible images of the two boys pressed on either side of me exchanging smirking winks over my head. Unfortunately Potter saw my grimace and made some hurt-sounding comment about how he didn't _think _he was so repulsive that one wouldn't want to be in close proximity to him. On the upside, he obviously hadn't realised that my true feelings were quite the opposite to repulsion. We started out walking separately, shoulder to shoulder, but like in a three-legged race, it is extremely difficult to walk in step while hunched under the same cloak and we were eventually forced to link arms to make it slightly easier. To quell the strange feeling I got from being pressed up against Potter, I thought of kissing Severus Snape.

We continued along through dark corridors, with Potter directing us from his map. I had no idea what he planned to do, but to my own chagrin I realised that I was happy just to let him take the lead. How cowardly I am. Finally, when the monotony of walking bent double (I suppose it was worse for the boys) and being able to see little but indistinct shadows through the veil-like cloak, Potter suddenly stopped completely and put a finger to his lips. Hardly necessary, but I suppose that's just what people do in situations like this.

"The teachers are in the classroom up the next set of stairs and to the right," whispered Potter so softly that even I, with my ear right near his mouth, could hardly make out what he was saying. Black and I nodded silently,

"Now what?"  I mouthed, turning my head to look at him, realising that his nose was about two centimetres away from my own and looking sharply down.

"I've an idea," whispered Black glowingly, "We'll have to take a look round first though. Prongs, the room they keep the school brooms in is just around the corner isn't it?" Potter's brows furrowed, then he smiled slowly (were they telepathically linked?),

"And the class room the teacher's are in has windows just below the roof, yeah?"

"Yes," said Black, "But it would be _really _risky," he grinned, and Potter grinned back. I had no idea what was going on, but now both of them had that mad look in their eye. I wondered what evil twist of fate had brought them together. They had proved in their years at Hogwarts that they worked as the perfect team, all their plans were diabolical, and nearly all of them worked. To the detriment of their intended victim, of course. I just hoped they could use the wayward brains to save the school from deatheaters – for performing a very-nearly-harmless prank is quite different to outwitting the most wicked and amoral man who has ever existed. I knew they were smart, but then they were also hotheaded and impulsive. They say that the Dark Lord Voldemort _never _acts impulsively. What if they were not thinking this plan they seemed to have silently concocted through properly? We were all three of us mad, really, we should have stayed in the Great Hall, we had no business being here. Dumbledore probably had it all under control…

"Hang on a second," I hissed a little louder than intended, "What are you talking about? Do you know there could be deatheaters just around the corner?" They looked at me as if they'd just realised I was there,

"Yes," said Sirius flippantly, "We're thinking of taking ourselves a few broomsticks!" Potter took his glasses off to clean them and nodded matter-of-factly.

"We can float up to the top of the outside of the class room, covered by the invisibility cloak, and look in on them through the windows! We can even go inside if it's too dark to see, and if the worst comes to the worst, we can just zip away on the brooms!" I raised my eyebrows. It sounded utterly preposterous.

"Excuse me?" Where they on drugs?

"Yes?" asked Sirius pertly,

"What if they look up and see us?"

"We'll have the invisibility cloak on, genius." That was too, too much,

"Oh, is that so. So what if they have some magical device that lets them see _through_ your wonderful invisibility cloak? What then, _genius?_" Oh, that felt good. Sirius was formulating a smart retort when Potter broke in,

"Stop bickering. Evans, you do have a point, but as far as I can see, there's no way we can get a look in that room short of walking through the door, unless we do go up on broomsticks. If we had more _time_ we could think of something else, but we'll just have to be really careful, and if things go bad make a run for it – or a swoop for it, if you will-"

"I suppose we can _try_," I said in my reasonable Head-Girl voice, "But let's not take any unnecessary risks." God, I sounded like Professor McGonagall.

"Right you are, Miss Evans," said Sirius, saluting me mockingly and linking his arm through mine, "Shall we go?"

Fifteen minutes later we were standing silently at one end of the corridor containing our objective. Using their highly developed breaking-and-entering skills, the two boys had obtained three broomsticks with almost disturbing ease. I clutched my 'Nebula500' like it was a hot brick but the other two casually slung their own over their shoulders while they contemplated our dangerous mission. It seemed more insane than ever. Here we were outside a room potentially full of deatheaters, trusting to luck that they didn't hear or see us. Not daring to talk, Potter mounted his broom with all the arrogance of a star Quiddich player and Black followed suit. I somehow scrambled onto mine after some initial trouble with making it rise to mounting level. I had never been a skilled flyer – to tell you the truth, I'm rather scared of heights. Now we were faced with a slight problem. The invisibility cloak would not cover three broomsticks. No matter how close we pressed together, or how uncomfortable and embarrassing it got, most of Sirius' legs and broom were clearly showing outside the cloak. We'd already discussed the possibility of only sending one person up under the cloak, but decided against it because the people below would be too vulnerable, and they wouldn't be able to get of the ground in time if we had to get away quickly. Especially me. In fact, I doubted if I'd be able to fly away quick enough even if I was already in the air. So there was only one solution.

"You'll have to take Evans on your broomstick, Prongs," mouthed Black. Potter looked less than pleased with this idea, as did I. He raised his eyebrows at Black as if to say, 'why can't you?' and I suddenly felt offended. I glowered. Black shrugged,

"You're the better flyer," he replied. This compliment seemed to convince Potter, because he dismounted and gestured to me, smiling slightly. With a scowl, I haughtily placed my own broom behind a nearby statue and walked stiffly over to Potter. He shifted forward on his broom and I awkwardly mounted behind him, loath to hold onto his waist but knowing I would have to once we got into the air. I saw an unreadable look pass between Potter and Black as the cloak was once again lowered over us all, and wondered at it. Now the cloak just covered us, though both boys had to crouch  very low, and everyone had to bend their knees up to cover their shoes. All in all, it was back-breakingly uncomfortable. Then it was time.

Potter skilfully manoeuvred the broomstick slowly up into the air, and Sirius did his best to match it. I loosely held onto the back of Potter's robes, but thankfully he didn't seemed to notice. We went up so smoothly and slowly that the motion reminded me of a muggle hovercraft. We glided on, our cloaked heads just brushing the roof of the corridor, until we were level with the windows. Potter carefully stopped us outside the first open window that ran along the top of the wall of The Classroom like he was parking a car.

This was it. Potter and Black, who were both facing the window, leaned forward slightly, and I held the ends of both brooms and had terrible visions of them overbalancing and catapulting themselves into a room full of killers. I watched there unmoving backs and impatiently wondered what they were seeing. Finally, when I was about to die from the agonising wait, Potter remembered me and, turned around dangerously, mouthing for me to lean over his shoulder so I could see. I couldn't be sure, but I court a faint flush on cheeks as he communicated this. I was terrified to do this, one, because I would be leaning on Potter, and two, because I could easily fall to my death from this height. But the hunger to know what was going on overpowered both these things, so I painstakingly raised my body so that my legs were wrapped tightly around the broomstick while I leaned heavily on Potter's back, my hands on his shoulders, my line of vision over his head and down into the room below. The weight didn't appear to trouble him, though simply holding myself in this position was killing my legs.

What I saw in The Classroom soon put an end to any thoughts of my discomfort. We'd found the teachers alright. And we'd found the deatheaters. Apparently they _did_ have some kind of defence against the map.

I bit back a cry of fear. Dumbledore, the great, invisible bane of Voldemort, was backed up against a wall, with at least twenty ghastly, black cloaked figures standing around him, their wands raised. A weird white glow emanated from the combined force of their wands, and it seemed to swell around Dumbledore, encasing him in a prison of light, his thin wrists pressed against the wall by some invisible force and his own wand dangling in mid air before him. His usual benign expression was replaced by a look of fierce determination. I could literally see his mind and body straining to get free, trying to bend the suspended wand to his will. Trying, and nearly succeeding, for the wand quivered slightly, and the surrounding deatheaters were shaking violently in an effort to prevent Dumbledore's chief weapon from returning to its master. In my mind I urged Dumbledore to greater efforts. It was unnatural for someone like Dumbledore to be imprisoned. They must really have taken him by surprise. I then turned my attention to the other occupants of the room. What looked like the entire faculty were gagged, bound and held by a single deatheater, or two in the case of Professor Dupinkay, who was thrashing around like mad. I glanced around at him just in time to see a gloved fist come down hard on his head, rendering him unconscious. I felt tears spring to my eyes.

The tallest of the cowled figures stood in the centre of the room, and though he was masked, his nervousness showed through the impatient tapping of his right foot. He too had his wand trained on Dumbledore, and he had cause to be worried, for the great wizard's wand was now jerking more violently towards his hand. The tall deatheater, who I assumed to be the leader (just because he was tall I suppose), gestured abruptly to one of Dupinkay's now useless captors, obviously instructing him to join the ring around Dumbledore. Potter swivelled to look at me,

"What are they waiting for?" he mouthed. I shrugged helplessly. I had no idea. Why did they not bring in more of Voldemort's considerable forces and do whatever they were planning before the ministry arrived? Because they _would_ arrive. Hagrid the gamekeeper was presumably still free, and once he realised what was going on, he would waste no time in contacting help.

My attention was brought back to the present situation as for the first time, a deatheater spoke.

"Where are they?" said the person holding Professor Lallie in a male, rather nasal voice, "We can't hold these much longer."  The central deatheater spun around,

"My Lord will get here in his own good time," he said coldly, "Do your job and do not question his plans." The other man shut up, but it was not long before someone else, this time a woman, piped up.

"What if they've lost control of the ministry?" she whined, "We'll all be dead before morning if they have." If their leader had had a face, I knew it would have been scowling,

"They will come! The plan was seamless!"

"I would not count on it," said Dumbledore, his deep, calming voice. The deatheater started and turned nervously towards him, not game to reply.

"The ministry has many defences your esteemed master may not have counted on," continued Dumbledore, and I heard McGonagall give a tiny whimper. Again, they ignored him, but I could see it in they way they stood that they had their doubts. I thought about what had been said. Was this the reason they could not carry out their plans? Voldemort himself wasn't present, or was otherwise occupied at the ministry, so they had to wait it out? Considering the fearful way they were treating Dumbledore, and the fact that they needed over twenty people to detain him, perhaps Voldemort was the only one they thought had a chance with him. This was slightly comforting, but it meant that we had to act quickly. We had to somehow get Dumbledore free so that if and when Voldemort arrived, we would stand a chance. But could we possibly do? It was hopeless.

The room had lapsed into silence again, but the iron will of Dumbledore versus the straining of the deatheaters was almost audible in the charged atmosphere. I watched Dumbledore's old face keenly. What was he thinking? No emotion showed on his features, though his long white hair and beard glowed in the white light, giving him a majestic, divine quality. And suddenly, as if he had felt my regard, he was staring straight at us. His eyes widened slightly…he knew we were there! How? My breath caught in my throat…would the deatheaters notice? Dumbledore quickly turned away, but not before I saw him wink, and ever so slightly, smile. I grinned back. Now that Dumbledore was in the know, everything would be alright, surely? Was I naïve to imagine that one old man was capable of single-handedly fixing any problem, great all small? It was just that I trusted him. He really had something. You couldn't _not_ trust Dumbledore. After that, Potter painstakingly moved our brooms back the way we'd come. We hid behind a large suit of armour and stared at each other…


	12. Lord Voldemort's Great Plan and Why it F...

_DISCLAIMER_: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**The Truth**

_THE PLAN OF LORD VOLDEMORT AND WHY IT FAILED_

"Did you _see_ that?" breathed Sirius,

"Yeah," said Potter, shaking his head and smiling grimly, "But it doesn't really help. We have to do something. If Voldemort does take the Ministry of Magic, and is on his way, and with Dumbledore, er, _restrained_, things could go very badly." He'd reached the same conclusion as I had. We had to do something.

"He might still break free of them," I said in a small voice. I felt myself flush as Potter looked at me scornfully,

"He might, but what if he doesn't?" no one answered, the answer was hanging in the air: basically, we would be dead. We thought for a while in silence. I imagined several scenarios in which we charged head long into the room, dispatched all the deatheaters, freed the teachers and rode out in glorious victory. They were not helpful.

I thought of the way the deatheaters were so fidgety. Obviously the Dark Lord was late. We might be able to use that against them.

"You know how they were all so nervous?" I started off slowly, and they nodded,

"And the ones covering Dumbledore are really weak…" I trailed off; the idea in the back of my mind was too insane even to contemplate,

"Yes?" prompted Potter, his eyes burning. He was cleaning his glasses again. Why'd he have to clean them again? Surely they weren't _that _dirty?

"I don't suppose we could…I don't know…pretend to be messengers from Voldemort, or the Dark Lord himself?" It sounded stupid even as I said it.

"What, just walk right up to the door and knock?" asked Sirius, fingering the bridge of his nose. I looked at the floor, why had I even spoken?  The two of them were looking at each other thoughtfully, and my heart sank. They couldn't seriously be considering my insane ramblings, could they?

"It'd be bloody dangerous," commented Potter, "Could be worth a shot-"

"We'd have to plan what to say," added Sirius, "It'd be useless to pretend to be the Dark Lord, I shouldn't think he'd sound like a seventeen-year-old school boy – but maybe we could try to be a messenger."

"But we'd be counting on them not asking for a name, or knowing who their own fellows are-"

"But if they're nervous they'll just go with it-"

"Potter! Black! I wasn't thinking straight, we can't just march in there…" I began, but what could I say? March in there and do _what, _precisely? Potter looked me. Black looked at me. No one said anything.

"Shit," said Potter suddenly, in a quiet voice, "Looks like we don't have a choice. If we do anything, it has to be _now_. Right this second, actually." He was looking at his wonderful map, and my gut seemed to tie itself in knots,

"What are you saying-"

"Voldemort is making his way across the school grounds as we speak, take a look," replied Potter in a strangled voice. Black snatched the map from him and I leaned closer. There was no doubt about it; a dot labelled 'Lord Voldemort' and a swarm of followers were travelling slowly but surely towards the Entrance Hall. Obviously he was not worried about being seen now and did not bother with cloaking charms which would fool our map. We stood taking this in for moment.

"Right," said Potter, "There's no choice. We are going to walk in there and hope to goodness we can distract them enough to get Dumbledore free. We'll put illusion charms on us so we look more like deatheaters. Actually, there's no need for all of  us to do it. Evans, you can fly back to warn the school that they're coming, take the invisibility cloak-"

"I don't think so," I replied calmly, "I've come this far, and besides, I was the one who put it into your heads." Both Potter and Black looked like they were going to protest, but decided against it when they took another look at the map. The enemy was in the Entrance hall – probably at this moment posting guards to keep everyone in the Great Hall.

Everything after that seemed to go really fast. In moments, Black had performed some fiddly little charm which I _sure _isn't on the school syllabus, and in our places stood three sinister looking black-cloaked figures in deatheater masks. At least, I imagined that I looked the same as the other two – apparently the illusion doesn't work on the actual person being concealed. I didn't want to think how he knew how to do it. We looked at each other. Black extended his hand to Potter and patted my shoulder,

"It was a pleasure to know the both of you," he said seriously, and Potter nodded sagely,

"Yes, we had some good times-"

"Oh, shut up!" I cried, unable to bear it, "We are _not _going to be killed, ok?" and with that, I dragged them by their robe sleeves (their real ones, not their thick black illusionary ones) towards our destination. All of us carried our broomsticks, which would add to the pretence that we were flying messengers, and I felt somehow safer because no one would be able to see my face – all they would see would be a skull shaped mask.

"Who's going to talk?" I asked,

"Play it by ear, eh?" replied Sirius. Oh, just great. What if we all started to talk at the same time? But there wasn't anything for it, we were now standing in front of the dreaded door, our hearts in our throats. I was sweating and we hadn't even started yet. Potter squared his shoulders, seemingly gathering himself to his full height, and pushed the door open as confidently as he could. He strode in first, every inch the arrogant deatheater. The effect of our entrance was instantaneous. Every single head (except Professor Dupinkay's) turned to look at us. I have to tell you, I almost broke down there and then. What if there was some protocol that we didn't know how to perform? What if we had already given ourselves away? I couldn't have managed a squeak at that moment, but Potter, as bold as brass, stepped forward and spoke,

"We bear a message from our Lord," he said grandly, and I would never have placed the cold, haughty tones which rolled of his tongue as naturally as if he'd been speaking that way all his life.

I was impressed, but I was trembling with fear. This was the moment of truth. What made it worse was that the man whom Potter had addressed, the Leader, was masked, so we had no idea what he was thinking. Every faceless head was turned towards us, scrutinising us, _how _could they not realise? After what seemed like an age, but what was most probably only 30 seconds, the man spoke,

"Deliver, then," he said, fidgeting with his sleeve and glancing back at Dumbledore, who was looking on curiously. I wondered wether he could tell it was us. I suddenly had the mad urge to giggle. Why wasn't the deatheater asking for our names? Was it possible that he was too stressed to think straight?

"Our Lord is minutes from arrival," continued Black, his voice deeper and more sinister than usual, "The attack on the ministry has gone entirely to plan," (He was basing this on the little we'd heard. I hoped to God they wouldn't call his bluff).

"And my Lord wishes that all who are not needed to restrain the fool Dumbledore bring the remaining prisoners to the Entrance Hall of the castle, where they should await orders," added Potter, inspired. The silence was palpable. The fool Dumbledore? I winced at this part, but it seemed to pass the test. No one appeared to be protesting, so I suppose it was just lucky Voldemort hadn't filled them in on all the details of his plan – otherwise we'd have had no chance. But just when I thought we'd fooled them, someone spoke up,

"What, d'you mean we leave _him_ here with only a few weakened guards?" a man said, jerking his head toward Dumbledore. I sensed Potter's panic as he stiffened under his robes. He didn't know what to say. We were all going to die. There was nothing for it,

"Do you dare question the orders of our Lord?" I said, trying to make my voice sound colder and more mature. My heart sounded like it would explode through my ribcage any second as I went on, "I'm sure he would understand if we just returned and told him you refused to obey," Where did I get this crap from? Toby's vast collection of science-fiction/fantasy movies, I suspected. I hoped my wild guess at deatheater jargon was correct. I watched anxiously as they took in my amateur attempt at evil side-kick language. Who would have thought I could be so daring? Oddly, through my mind-numbing fear, I felt a twinge of pride. 

But I guess all the deatheaters were in a hurry to get away from Dumbledore, who's wand was a good deal nearer his hand than it had been before. I suppose orders were orders, and they obviously believed that we were somehow their superiors, so they questioned us no further. I thought it was unbelievably stupid of them, but perhaps they were thinking of what 'Out Lord' would do to them if they didn't obey at once rather than of what would happen if we were phoneys. Their leader nodded his head, (in relief, I thought), and said quite politely,

"And our Lord will deal with Dumbledore in due course? I am afraid we will not be able to restrain him much longer,"

"Of course," I said, feeling weak at the knees, "That will be his first priority after his orders have been issued." And that was it.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

The teachers were all bundled out, some struggling, some, like McGonagall, walking poker straight, and smouldering. They obviously thought we were genuine deatheaters. Soon, we were left alone in the room with the twenty-or-so deatheaters who were concentrating entirely on keeping Dumbledore pinned down. The leader didn't even bother to check if we were following. I had no idea Dumbledore instilled such fear in the Dark Lord's minions. Phase one of our plan was complete.

Since the deatheaters weren't facing us, Potter and Black turned their backs to them and removed the illusion from their faces. Potter grabbed my arm and pulled me around too, obviously he'd taken off my face as well.

"We have about three minutes," he mouthed to us, his face radiant with excitement – or fear – I couldn't tell which.

"Should we attack them?" asked Sirius silently

"Yeah," I mouthed. If we took out enough of them, Dumbledore would probably be able to get free. But how to do it without saying word? Difficult, but not impossible. I walked carefully up behind one of the enemy who'd taken his mask off. He didn't notice – his eyes were closed and sweat trickled down his ugly nose. Dumbledore had his eyes closed too, so he didn't see me either. I hoped this wasn't a sign that he was tiring. The entire school, and probably the ministry as well, had all their hopes pinned on him. 

So then we attacked. We all took our wands and aimed for a deatheater. Luckily Professor Dupinkay had deigned to teach us the stunning spell already this year, although I had  the feeling that Black and Potter would already have know it anyway. It seemed like an odd thing to do, attack three out of twenty armed men, but it was all we could think of. Black held his long fingers up, one…two…THREE

BAM

Three of them were gone, slumped on the floor. The next part is hard to describe. It was kind of funny, watching them waver between holding Dumbledore and attacking us. The fear on the faces of the unmasked deatheaters was undeniable. _Where did they come from?_ was their silent plea. I felt quite empowered. But it wasn't completely over. Soon they worked out that some of them could attack while others did their best to hold on. It was kind of touch and go for a few minutes after that – what really saved us was that Potter thought to leap on his broom at that moment. Black followed suit, and before I knew it, Potter was swooping towards me and hauling me up before him. It took a couple of seconds to get seated properly, but by then we were in the rafters, ducking and weaving as the various curses were fired up at us. I didn't have time to think that Potter had one of his arms around me, or that he was practically breathing down my neck, I just concentrated on raining stunners down on the enemy as Potter displayed his extraordinary flying ability. 

We managed to hit at least seven more deatheaters before Dumbledore got free. When he did, it was like and invisible explosion had occurred in the room. Shock waves seemed to reverberate around the space, blowing our hair back from our faces and rendering every remaining deatheater unconscious. I'd have let our a whoop of joy if I hadn't been such a jumble of nerves. Black did it for me anyway, diving and plunging around Dumbledore like some kind of over-excited puppy. Potter and I landed more sedately in front of him, both of us grinning and flushed with success. We just couldn't help it. Dumbledore shook his head and smiled anxiously,

"There is no time for speech now, but you should know, you may very well have saved many lives tonight." His old face had looked very sad, "I must go…I hope I am not too late. Do not under any circumstances go back to the Entrance Hall…hide somewhere…" he trailed off vaguely, "Some very nice acting there, Mr Potter, Black, Miss Evans…" and then he was gone, and we were left alone with a pile of unconscious deatheaters who looked as though they were out for the count. I let out a very big sigh of relief.

Potter and Black began to chuckle at that, and then to laugh,

"Come on," Potter said between giggles, and mounted his broom. Not in the mood to care what we were doing, I searched around for my own broom,

"Nah, Evans, you can come with me again," said Potter, blushing slightly. Feeling light headed and giddy with relief, I agreed and hopped on in front of him again. Controlling the broom with one hand, he wrapped his other around my waist, causing my stomach to do the whole butterflies thing. I laughed aloud and the others joined in as we zoomed through darkened corridors, finally emerging out of a large stone window and into the crisp night air. That was when we really began to laugh in earnest, noisy great peals of laughter that seemed to bounce off the cold grey walls of the castle and back into our faces. I hadn't laughed like this ages, not in this wonderful, belly-aching way. 

Bathed in the eerie light of the full moon, Potter began to do loops and turns in the air, laughing all the while, grasping me tightly as he guided the broom effortlessly through the night.

"This is insane," I tittered after a while, still with a huge grin plastered across his face, apparently unaware of my fear of heights.

"I know!" shouted Black from somewhere below, "But wasn't it fucking brilliant?"

"What?" I laughed,

"What we did! What _you_ did!" cried Potter, "We beat them, we _crushed _them!"

"Yes!" I cried, full of enthusiasm. It did not even _occur_ to me that Dumbledore might fail to fix the rest of the problem. We had done our part and the euphoria was only just kicking in.

"Did you see their faces?" Potter shouted, "_Did _you?"

"And your voice, Potter, I mean to say, 'the fool Dumbledore',!" I said, imitating his words from before. Potter cackled,

"And you, 'Do you _dare _question the orders of our Lord?' Ha!"

And then we were off again, Potter and Black weaving figure eights around each other, me holding on as tightly as I could, my brain too muddled to be fearful. Suddenly a small brown wood pigeon fluttered up in front of us, looking disgruntled, and I realised we must be over the forest now. We took one look at the bird's bobbing, squawking face and dissolved into mirth again. With a jerk, Potter pulled me to him so tightly that I couldn't breath and shot straight up into the air with a mad cry. Up, and up we went, until the air became cold and my cheeks began to burn. I turned my head to look at Potter and grinned back,

"You ready?" he asked mischievously, 

"Ready for what?" I asked bemusedly, not catching on.

"Ready for this!" he shouted and suddenly angled the broom downwards. Straight downwards. At over a hundred miles an hour. You have to imagine absolute terror here. Terrible, brain-freezing, cardiac arrest causing terror. There was no time for me to scream or pray to God for mercy, for it was like that horrible ride they have at the amusement park that free-falls you straight down without any warning whatsoever. Only it was a thousand times worse, because I wasn't secure in one of those magnetic seatbelts, nor sitting in a proper seat. I was astride a piece of wood which was hardly four inches across.

Potter was still yelling, but I couldn't hear him, or see anything either. All I could feel was the wind in my face, almost searing my skin off, and wood under my hands, threatening to splinter me to within an inch of my life. I think my heart really had stopped beating, because when we finally pulled out of the dive, bare inches from the treeline of the forest, I had a sharp pain in my chest and my arms were so weak I couldn't even get my fingers to close around the broom anymore. I knew I was going to fall…I just knew it…

And suddenly I was sobbing, great big fat tears which streamed steadily down my face and plopped of my chin to land silently somewhere in the foliage below. But I was laughing at the same time, laughing and crying at the same time.

"_Potter,_" I choked out, "How could you _do_ that?" I had felt more terror in that moment of vertigo than I had in the entire night. I had never been more afraid, but even though I was crying, I felt like it was the greatest thing I had ever done (that's not saying I'd do it again, mind you). Now the adrenaline was really pumping, for my mind was absolutely clear, though my nasal passages were not,

"It was…it was-" I couldn't describe it so I buried my face in my hands and crouched over the broomstick. I felt a tentative hand on my back. Why wasn't he saying anything?

"I need to – get of the – broom," I said after a while, wiping my eyes, "Please?"

"Alright," said Potter, who still hadn't taken his hand off my shoulder blade, "Sorry, I thought you'd like it," he sounded anxious, and I smiled through my tears,

"Oh, I did _like_ it, but, oh, Potter, it was the most horrible thing you've ever done to me!" What? Even I didn't know what I meant. Potter looked quite worried,

"That's really saying something, I suppose," he said, guiding the broom back towards the castle. He landed on a ledge jutting out from the Eastern tower which, judging from the corresponding ledge on the Southern Tower, had once held a number of gargoyles. It was now completely bare and had quite enough room for both Potter and I to sit, stand or even lie down. It was a part of Hogwarts that I had _never_ thought I would be occupying. I'd never even thought of the possibility of flying up here – much less actually landing. It offered a wonderful view of the moonlit lake and the mountains surrounding it. The lake at night was like another world, a fairy world, which, I reminded myself, it probably was...

"Are you all right?" asked Potter nervously, dragging me back to the present. He was looking apprehensively into my face, his skin made waxen by the moon. He obviously thought he'd somehow damaged me…maybe he had…

"Oh, yes, I'm fine," I said, though my cheeks were still wet with tears, "Just gave me a shock, that's all…" I wondered vaguely where Sirius Black had got to. Carefully, Potter put a hand to my forehead, and I squirmed inside. Pushing his hand a way I endeavoured to behave more normally,

"Potter, why did you have to that?" I said sharply, "Frightened me half to death!" I even managed to get a scowl onto my face, and I saw Potter visibly relax. To all intents and purposes, I was all right.

"Nearly had a heart attack," I rambled on,

"Oh, how-"

"Could've fallen to my death-"

"Not with me holding on to you-"

"I like that!" I exclaimed, but my heart wasn't in it.

"Wasn't it just a little bit amazing?" he asked, grinning. I found myself grinning back,

"Well, you know, it probably was, a little bit," I admitted, laughing softly. He looked extremely pleased, and we sat there in silence for ages, the present catastrophe down in the castle the last thing on our minds.

"You know, Evans," he remarked after a while, "There's really no reason why we shouldn't be friends." His tone was deadly serious, and he wouldn't look at me. Perhaps he was blushing again.

Friends!

I was suddenly wrenched out of my blissful reverie and thrown back into the turmoil that always surrounded my Potterish thoughts. James Potter wanted to be friends! Whatever could I say to that?

"I – I mean, well, I suppose there isn't," I said in a rush, and at the same time it hit home to me how high up I really was. I scrambled quickly to my feet and backed up against the wall, sweat breaking out along my spine. Potter jumped up at once,

"What's wrong?" he cried, his eyes wide,

"Oh…nothing, I mean, something…I mean we're very high up, aren't we?" I said plaintively, feeling like a fool. But he didn't smirk or make a smart comment, he didn't say anything actually, he just pulled up his broom and gently ushered me onto it. We slowly floated down to a convenient open window and glided in, landing smoothly on carpet with an extraordinarily thick pile. I tumbled of the broom and lay gasping on the floor, an itch behind my eyes telling me I was on the verge of tears again.

"You must think I'm a little fool," I said in low voice, unaccountably embarrassed. A hand passed across my line of vision and as Potter helped me to my feet he patted my shoulder,

"Well, I shouldn't worry too much. You've never considered my opinion before," he said, and though his words should have been  harsh, they weren't, "And I've never thought you a fool," he added comfortingly,

"Really?" I asked pathetically,

"Really. You have been a little selfish at times, I'll admit-"

"Oh,"

"And a bit of a control freak-"

"Alright, alright, you've made your point!" he raised his hands, smiling softly. We stood in the hallway for a while, wondering what we were supposed to do now. A low, mournful howl sounded in the distance. I shivered, and gripped Potter's arm,

"Lupin-" I began, but Potter silenced me with a look. To my surprise, there were tears glistening in his eyes,

"Some other time, alright, Evans?"

"Ok." I self-consciously removed my hand from his arm.

The howl sounded again and I thought of that mad wolf-face that had been so eager to do me in earlier this evening. There hadn't been a trace of any human emotion in that look, only raw animal rage. How could Lupin deal with something like that? How could he live everyday knowing that at some point he would have no control of his body or mind, would feel the need to attack and _kill_ anything that stood in his path? It was mind-boggling. I guess I was starting to realise that not everyone was what they seemed – and quiet, frail Remus Lupin was only an extreme example. The simple fact that Potter and Black were still friends with Lupin when they _knew_ about him was more telling than a hundred practical jokes could ever be.

"Potter, about…what you said before?" I said impulsively, and he glanced up sharply, "I – I think we should be friends…" I trailed off, unsure. But then this huge grin broke out across his face. And he nodded.

And that, really, is the end of the story. As you may have gathered, I lived through it to tell the tale. Fortunately for Potter and I, we had been right in assuming that our part in this night of adventure was over when we freed Dumbledore. Although in retrospect I can see that we had no right to be so confident, I do not feel that we could have done any more. According to Dumbledore, who spoke to us briefly afterward, he had arrived 'just in the nick of time' to meet Voldemort himself in the entrance hall. The master-of-all-evil was in the middle of meting out severe punishments to his followers for obeying false orders, and planning his strategy in the event of Dumbledore breaking free. Apparently the attack on the Ministry of Magic had not been entirely successful, and they had had to withdraw. Voldemort had still hoped to take Hogwarts while the wizards at the Ministry were regrouping, but he had counted on Dumbledore being safely detained. From the way Dumbledore told it, the rest of the evening had been a piece of cake, with him performing complex defensive magic, rescuing the teachers and simply holding the fort until the Ministry Defence squads arrived. I am sure what we heard was only a summary. Voldemort had of course fled with the uncaptured deatheaters, and it seemed everyone was safe for the moment, though the school will be closed down tomorrow to up security measures. We'll all be sent home for a little holiday. I was curious to know how the deatheaters had got in undetected in the first place, or if there objective had simply been to dispose of the headmaster, but I didn't like to ask as Dumbledore had his mind on other things. That's the problem with being a child: no one ever explains things fully to you.

So after we'd had our chat with Dumbledore (when he'd brought us out of hiding using that nifty little speaker-crystal), Potter and I joined the rest of our house in Gryffindor Common room. There was no sign of Sirius Black, and Potter offered no explanation so perhaps he didn't know where he was. The rest of the students had returned to the common room as soon as Dumbledore gave the all-clear. The buzz of chatter came to a startling stop as soon as Potter and I entered, and everyone was staring at us, some faces alive with excitement, others streaked with tears, all hungry for information. Incredibly, the occupants of the Great Hall had neither heard or seen very much of what had happened except for the odd bang or flash of light. I could feel their intent to bombard us with questions, so before anyone could say anything I clapped my hands,

"I don't know what you've all been told," I said loudly, "But Dumbledore says everything is safe now, and the enemy have gone. We don't know much more than you do but I'm sure Dumbledore will fill you in tomorrow morning. The message is that you must all pack your bags and then get some sleep; they're sending us all home tomorrow." And with that I strode towards my dormitory with out another word. The incredulous silence that followed was soon broken by angry yells and demands to be told more, but I just left Potter to deal with the rest, which was quite cruel of me I suppose. I don't know if I was neglecting my duty as Head Girl, but I seriously couldn't deal with anything else at that point. I got into bed and closed the curtains around my four-poster. Thankfully, Celine intimidated the other girls into leaving me alone and I've been here ever since, writing in my diary and trying not to think about Lupin.

It is now four o'clock in the morning and I'm due on the Hogwart's express in four hours time, so I suppose I should go to sleep. The night after my first hare-raising adventure. I'm not feeling the same thrill the Famous Five always seem to, but at least I've made a new friend, or to put it another way, an old new friend…


	13. Prongs

_DISCLAIMER_: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**The Truth**

_PRONGS_

_Tuesday 10th of February _

Hello Diary, how's your day been? I'm feeling ok at this point, because I've only just woken up and it's just after midday. I was still sleeping off the effects of my night of horrors, the memories of which I am sure will soon come flooding back to plague my waking hours. You see, I was too highly-strung and eager for information about the state of things (which I did _not_ receive) to do any sleeping on the train trip from Hogwarts yesterday, so I was completely stuffed by the time I got home to my anxious mother and confused father late last night.

As far as I can make out, the deatheaters captured on Sunday night are still being interrogated, so we don't know anything. Dumbledore told us briefly at breakfast yesterday morning (in a most unsatisfactory way, the tired, irritable students felt) that the Ministry of Magic was back in our control, and as yet a list of anyone hurt or killed has not been released. This was not comforting to anyone whose family works at the Ministry. It looked as though we would be off school for a week, or possibly more, while the authorities debated security issues and got the magical community back in order. Dumbledore was confident, however, that his school would continue to be run, and assured us that he had no intention of letting it be closed down as he firmly believes it to be the safest place for us and regards the deatheater invasion as a freak accident and warning to be more vigilant. He also added something about how Black, Potter and I had performed great service to the school in a daring rescue attempt and would be awarded house points, et cetera et cetera.

Everyone, of course, was still eager to hear exactly what part the three of us had had in the action, and Celine had to literally man-handle Lina Matherson (who's father is in the magical law enforcement squad at the ministry) and the others as they sobbed about how I was 'with holding information' and 'being unutterably unfair'. The truth was, I had no idea what to say and my brain was too tired to work out all the facts. Especially concerning Remus Lupin, who had insofar not appeared, much to my relief. Potter stepped in and told my distraught dorm-mates off, which was rather nice of him. He said something about how we didn't know anymore that they did, and that he'd already told them all he could last night. They shut up at once after that, which made me wonder exactly what he had said to them when I had left him in it the night before. When I expressed my humble thanks, he just winked and said,

"What are friends for?" He obviously felt no ill-will about my abrupt departure last night. That brings me around to my latest bit or irrational behaviour, but I'll get to that later on.

During the rest of breakfast, I could see that Celine, seated beside me was itching to ask questions herself. She was torn between being a good friend and ripping the truth out of me with her bare hands. I could tell this because she had one freckled arm draped comfortingly around me, and the other hand drumming impatiently on the table. She alternated between gazing understandingly at my hunched figure and glancing around to hear what Potter and Black were talking about, which was, frustratingly for her, mostly impossible since they were talking in low voices and hardly moving their lips. Tory snuck over to join us after a while, looking drained. She smiled at me, but I could see she was dying to know what I'd been up to the night before. To my dismay (I'm not sure if dismay is what I really felt, but its close enough), as soon as Tor sat down, Black turned his attention away from Potter toward us.

"Tory," he said, nodding in an unusually serious tone. Tory nodded back a little self-consciously and would probably have smiled had I not fixed her with my best piercing glare.

"Have you heard from your aunt, Sirius?" she asked casually, causing my eyes to pop out of my head.

What? Black's Aunt? What did Tory know about Black's Aunt? Had they been holding secret discussions about their extended families behind my back? Why had I not been notified of any conversation Tory might have had with Black meaningful enough to reach the topic of his Aunt?

No one seemed to notice that I was doing fish impersonations again, because Black continued,

"Oh, I will do soon, I think. Andromeda's been working on her." Andromeda, Black's cousin, was a short, stately Slytherin girl with bobbed brown hair and dark eyes. Did Tory have secret liaisons with her, too, then?

"Well, it's good you have some relatives you can rely on," said Tory sweetly, and Black grinned genuinely back at her. What was going on? Was this quiet, meek, kind little Tory involving herself in flirtatious smiling behaviour? And at a time when everyone's lives were at stake due to an evil dark wizard with a sizeable army? It was incomprehensible. I risked a glance at Celine, and saw that she was watching me with this horrible smirk on her face. The smirk she always does when she knows that I've been completely blown away. Like the time in fourth year when she'd told me she'd slept with Lucius Malfoy, (who was, at the time, a much sort after seventh-year Slytherin) and I'd actually believed her. Potter, too, was also looking at me as if gauging my reaction and smiling to himself. I turned back to Black, who was still grinning a little too widely for someone who had lost his brother the previous day and chatting amiably to my obviously very impressionable friend. Anxious as I was to know when, where and how this strange understanding had sprung up between Tor and Sirius, I wasn't fool enough to say anything there and then, so I concentrated on my porridge and let the conversation wash over me.

After breakfast, the teachers were intent on getting everyone out of the castle and onto the train as quickly as possible. I have never seen Professor McGonagall so stressed.

"Lily," she said (and she hardly ever uses first names), "Stop dithering around! You're responsible for getting the entire first year out onto the grounds! Evelyn Spike is still in the dormitories, I saw her rush up there wailing about her lost diary, the silly fool, and I'm sure Jason Michaels is up to no good – he's been experimenting with those yo-yo things from Hogsmeade-"

"Professor," I replied tiredly, "Evelyn is safely out in the courtyard, Tory found her diary for her-"

" – and you get Potter to help, he's not doing anything, chatting away to Black-"

"Professor-"

"Oh, no, Professor Lallie is telling those third years to go out the side entrance! I _specifically _told her to direct them to the entrance hall-"

"_Professor_,"

"_Sirius Black_, get away from that suit of armour at once!" and with that, she rushed off to stop the crime, real or imagined, that she felt Black was about to commit. I wondered idly if I should at some point advise McGonagall to try out some relaxation activities, like yoga for example, to prevent future heart attacks. I giggled to myself about the idea of Professor McGonagall doing yoga exercises, and went about my business.

By five past eight, the entire school (excepting those who were picked up by their parents), was safely installed in the compartments of the Hogwart's express and Celine, Tory and I were slouched in our seats ready for the long day of travel.

"So, Lily," said Celine, as soon as the bustle of last-minute luggage checks and arguments over seating arrangements had died down and the train was relatively quiet, "Now we're all alone, I see no point in beating about the bush-"

"Yeah," put in Tory, "Potter said something about broomsticks and pretending to be deatheaters?" she looked at me expectantly, with the air of one who did not quite believe what she was saying but was confident of the matter being cleared up in due course.

"Potter said something?" I began, stalling for time, "You sure it wasn't Black? You two seem to be getting pretty chummy-"

"Haha, you were really poleaxed by that one, weren't you, Lily?" cackled Celine, momentarily distracted, "You should pay more attention to your friend's private lives instead of obsessing over certain roguish quidditch players-"

"_Celine_," I spluttered, "I _do not_ obsess over Potter! When have you seen me obsessing over Potter? Ok, I admit I've been busy latterly, and not paying enough attention to you guys-"

"Bullocks, you had him at your _house_ last holidays, you had that huge fight – sexual tension if you ask me – and you've been so caught up in his detestability, or attractiveness, or _whatever_, that you didn't even notice that our Tory has found herself a love-interest-"

"_Love-interest?"_ Not to mention this most un-Celine-like terminology, I had not even considered the possibility that Tory had indulged in anything more than casual flirting…

"No!" cried Tory, who had been trying to get a word in edgeways for some time now, "Sirius isn't my _love interest_, so far we're just friends-"

"So far?"

"_Yes,_ Lily, so far!" Tory glared at me defiantly, her cheeks pink, and I shut my mouth abruptly. Sirius Black's face rose up before my mind's eye. He was hot-headed and quick-tongued, and during his younger years he had regarded those who did not reach his high standards with withering disdain. He was excitable and prone to fits of mad exultance, and he enjoyed picking fights with larger opponents. Yet I did not really know him that well, and I didn't really have the right to tell Tory she couldn't go out with him. It was just that I could not imagine the two of them together, and, if I am truthful with myself, I did not want to lose Tory to unpredictable Sirius Black. Trying to piece together a coherent sentence, I screwed up my face to the words, and I must have looked amusing, because Celine began to laugh again. Tory was blushing dreadfully now, and I cringed,

"I'm sorry, Tor, I just, well – you know-"

"Lily, if you can be friends with James Potter, then I can be friends with Sirius Black," she said anxiously, and I felt my eyes widened,

"Who says I'm friends with-"

"He did," interjected Celine, between peals of mirth, "His exact words were, 'Celine, do you know, I think I've finally brought Evans round,' and then I said, 'What are you talking about, you git,' and then he said 'Evans said she'll be friends with me', and then I _would_ have said, 'Goodness me, pigs have finally flown,' but at that moment-"

"So it's all ok!" interrupted Tor, a little too loudly. I held my head in my hands and groaned. I then realised that I had a splitting headache. Celine was still giggling,

"Geez, you two make it hard on yourselves. All this embarrassment and denial. With me and Toby, it was just 'Will you go out with me?' and then 'Yeah, sure,' and then, a couple of weeks later, snoggity snoggity-"

"_Shutup_, Celine! Do you want to here what happened last night or not?" I cried, prepared to do all manner of explaining to get her out of this strange, babbling mood she was in. It worked. She stopped behaving like tipsy hyena and sat up straight, staring into my face as if I were about to impart the meaning of the universe. I exchanged an exasperated glance with Tory and, to avoid all further grievances, ceased to beat about the bush.

After I had divulged everything I thought relevant about my courageous deeds (I did not, for example, think that the whole dare-devil-flying-on-Potter's-broom episode was relevant. Also, I did not think it wise to tell them about Lupin), and took a deep breath and sat back. My friends, though suitably impressed, were (in Celine's case) annoyed I hadn't asked them along and (in Tory's case) dissatisfied with my piece-meal knowledge of Voldemort's motive and the Hogwart's situation. After we had dwelt on my words for a few minutes in silence, I decided that knowing Celine, in depth questioning about my new found friendship with Potter would soon commence, so I told them a half-truth about 'head-girl duties' and departed from our compartment with the promise that I would 'come back soon'.

I made my way quickly towards the prefect's carriage. I was unsure if I was required to do anything, but anything was better than explaining to my friends why, precisely, I had decided that Potter was worth more than two pins after six years of bitter complaining about his character flaws. I didn't even have a clear idea of that myself. I reached the prefect's carriage in time to see Jude Maloney aim a punch at Peter Blanc's head.

"Hey!" I shouted, powerless to stop the inevitable cry of pain and fury as Blanc threw himself at Jude and began to pummel him. Not caring who had started the fight or why it had happened, I shot an immobilising spell at the pair of them.

"It'll wear off in a couple of minutes. Don't fight on the train," I mumbled, and continued on to saner pastures. Obviously the prefects weren't doing anything useful, so I followed their example and attempted to find an empty compartment. Perhaps I could catch up on a few hours sleep. But it was not to be; everywhere was filled up, with prefects and friends of prefects, who had been smuggled into the more comfortable accommodation granted to the exalted few Dumbledore had favoured. I doubtfully opened the door to the very last compartment, and would have shut it again had James Potter not looked up at that precise moment.

"Evans," he said, nodding courteously. He was sitting by the window, facing someone else who was lying stretched out along four seats on his side, his face hidden by a cloak.

"Sorry," I muttered, "I thought it was empty, I'll just be going-"

"No, stay. We're friends now, remember? And we need to talk." He didn't smile but, something in his face made me sit down beside him. I remembered the snarling visage of Lupin the night before, and my mysterious animal saviours. Perhaps now I was going to get an explanation. But none was forthcoming. Potter looked as if he were going to say something for a moment, but then quickly turned away and began to gaze out the window. After about five minutes of this, I began to feel rather annoyed.

"I hear you saw fit to tell Celine you'd 'finally got through to me'," I said, more abruptly than I had intended. His head snapped around and he met my eyes fiercely for a moment, and then looked down sheepishly,

"I'm sorry…I just…well, she was being really irritating, and I mean, I had to say something…" 

"Do you think you've achieved some great feat, now, Potter? Finally nailed me, have you?" I felt suddenly very angry. I thought he had been completely genuine the night before, but now I had my doubts. Maybe I was just another feather in his cap, another of the few people who didn't worship him won round…

"_No!"_ he said vehemently, "That's not how I think of it! I was just…well, happy,-" here he looked distinctly embarrassed, " – and, well, I just couldn't help myself…I don't know, I'm sorry…" he trailed, off, waving his arms around and looked so miserable that I felt my heart melt at the sight of it,

"Alright," I said grudgingly, "We'll move on from that. What we really have to talk about is…well, Lupin, I suppose." My words seemed to suck away the haziness that seemed to have filled my head upon entering the room. Everything suddenly seemed clear-cut and stark. The sound of the chugging steam train hammered into my skull. Potter took a deep breath.

"Lupin. Well, what do you want me to say? You saw. He's a were-wolf," Potter didn't look at me. I gathered my thoughts,

"Yes," I said, "But Potter, you're not going to get out of it that easily. You knew about Lupin already, obviously, and so did the teachers. But what happened to you and Sirius? And those animals, the deer and the dog, where did they come from?" Potter grimaced and took of his glasses. Rubbing his eyes, which had bags under them, I now noticed, he rose and gently shook the person lying opposite him, seemingly asleep,

"Moony, wake up," he said, confirming my suspicions about the identity of the unknown boy. As Remus Lupin lifted the cloak from his face and slowly sat up, something else hit me with the speed of a bullet, and another piece of the puzzle clicked into place,

"Moony," I said softly, thinking of the sorrowful howl I'd heard the night before, "Moony…Ha…oh, God-"

"Evans," said Potter gently, as I unconsciously got to my feet as if to leave. He pulled me back,

"Just, wait," I looked back across at Lupin, who appeared to be gathering himself together, his mouth a thin line and he eyes hard. I noticed recently healed scratches scored across his knuckles, and long thing scar running just below his jaw line. For the first time I saw the grey in his sandy hair, and noted that he was pale as death.

"I'm sorry about last night, Evans," he said simply, looking directly into my eyes. Fearfully, I tried to look away but found I couldn't. I could see that he registered the horror in my face, but I could do nothing about it. Were-wolves were something even muggleborns like myself had been taught to fear. When I was about six, I watched a movie about a were-wolf, and now I can't even remember what it was called. But I do remember that it was the first horror film I had ever seen, and that it scared the living daylights out of me. I think it probably scared me more than a real live were-wolf attack had managed to do, which is strange to think.

"I was bitten when I was seven years old," Lupin continued unwaveringly, though I was surprised he didn't faint dead away with his pallor, "There's not really much to tell. Dumbledore let me into the school out of kindness…I doubt anyone else would have accepted me…I go to a special location every month, every full moon…to make my transformation, and so far it has worked. Last night was a mistake, I couldn't find madam Pomfrey, and I had to warn Dumbledore about the deatheaters…" he trailed off, and looked away in shame, but Potter gripped his shoulder,

"Of course you did, mate, only thing you could've done." I stared at the pair of them, and began to feel, to my astonishment, an almost painful compassion for Lupin. He'd been bitten as an innocent child, and had to live with all this pain since…keeping it a secret…it was amazing his three friends had stuck by him, knowing what they did. Even I, as an ignorant muggleborn, knew the kind of prejudice that would surround any known were-wolf. 

"I could have killed someone. I could've killed Lily Evans if you hadn't been there, James," said Lupin after a while, covering his face with his scarred hands, "It's just too dangerous…we can't do it anymore…" I looked up with a start. Now he had lost me. What was he talking about? If _James_ hadn't been there? If the _deer _hadn't been there, more like…

"Come on, Moony," said Potter, "It was alright. We _were_ there-"

"But it was a near thing-"

"Everything was a near thing, Moony! Life is a near thing!"

"Why do you keep calling him Moony?" I interrupted suddenly, "It's horrible, why would he want to be reminded-"

"Evans, it's a _nick-name_ – he agreed to it, he helped think it up, that's the other thing you don't understand-" Lupin held up his hand and spoke,

"James, it's all right. Lily Evans, I can't tell you how sorry I am about what happened. I don't expect you to accept me for what I am…I couldn't ask it of you…but I beg of you - " here Lupin's expression became heart-renderingly pitiful – " – to please don't tell anyone about me. Dumbledore knows, so it's not against the rules or anything, and truly, I promise to stay away from you-"

"Oh, stop it," I cried, and found that my voice came out in a sob, "It's alright. Of course I won't tell – I mean, if you're telling the truth, which I think you are – it's not your fault. I know all about were-wolves! I did a huge research assignment on them last year! And of course you don't have to a – avoid me!" He stared at me in surprise and then threw some indecipherable look at Potter.

"Well," he said at last, "It would be insulting of me to say I am surprised, but you must understand that yours is not the usual reaction upon finding out someone is a were-wolf." I nodded,

"I'll admit it, I felt scared last night, and I still feel scared. But I don't think I'll be scared of _you_ Lupin, just…"

"What I'll become?" he asked sadly,

"Yeah." My voice was very soft, "I hardly know you, Lupin, we've hardly spoken all these years, but I think I should apologise for something." The thought had occurred to me moments before, and I was suddenly anxious to get it out. Lupin's bloodshot eyes widened slightly and I ploughed on,

"I'm afraid I've always thought you…I don't know…a bit weak, you know, a follower…and, well, now, after all this, I know I was terribly wrong. Being able to deal with this is not…not being a coward…it's amazing _bravery_." I finished, blushing. Lupin stared at me for a while, his mouth slightly open. Then he grinned, and it lit up his whole face,

"Thankyou," he said at last, standing up. "I'm going to see the trolley lady, I missed out on breakfast – James can explain the rest," and with that, he limped out of the compartment, closing the door quietly behind him. Suddenly I realised I didn't want him to go and leave me alone with Potter, and I half rose to my feet.

"That was nice, Evans," said Potter, who didn't seem to notice, "I'm glad you know now. It makes Lupin feel better, the more people who know and don't mind." I blushed again and nodded,

"I suppose it's none of my business, how you three knew about Lupin and all. But there's still one more thing," I said, and Potter flashed me a resigned look.

"I know," he said, "I was hoping you'd have forgotten-"

"The stag. And the dog. They were _not _normal animals. And where did you and Black get to after he tried to attack me?" I was determined to get the answer now. It had been bugging me all night, "Wait, I remember, Sirius said 'we'll have to change,' or something like that, and you said 'what about Evans?', and-"

"Hang on, Evans. You don't know what you're asking. Sirius and Peter said I could tell you if I thought it was really necessary – depending on how much you'd already worked out. And I don't think you have the slightest clue, so it might be better just to leave it alone. Forget all about the stag." He was talking very fast.

I stared at him, at a loss for words. What could I say now? I had a right to know what had saved my life, didn't I?

"No! You have to tell me! What secret can be more important than Lupin's? I won't tell anyone, I swear, I just  have to know!" I was practically begging him, I knew, but for some reason I was incredibly anxious to know the truth. I can't tell you exactly why. Potter put his glasses back on from their third or fourth cleaning that day and fixed me with a intense glare. His face was closed and I could not read anything of his thoughts, so I simply stared pleadingly into his face like the silly fool I am.

"It's not really any of your business," he whispered at last, and suddenly he was gazing into my eyes almost fearfully, "Yet, I want to tell you…I want you to know…" I was utterly transfixed, so I remained silent. Potter seemed to reach a decision,

"Evans…you must promise not to tell _anyone _about this…this could get me, and Moony, and Padfoot and Wormtail into the most terrible trouble…but if I told you…you _must _promise…" he trailed off, and my breath caught in my throat.

"Is it…illegal?" I asked, and kicked myself at once. But Potter only smiled grimly,

"Oh, well, you know, strictly speaking it is, but we're not hurting anyone." I nodded mutely. Maybe I didn't want to know…

"So, do you promise? I can tell you won't let this go if I don't tell you, so its better if you promise now," Potter had now put his glasses back on, and was wringing his hands together nervously. I'd always known there was something strange going on within his little gang, and I'd been through all the various unlikely possibilities, but now it seemed I was about to get the full truth. Did I want the full truth? Did I want to be drawn, however unwillingly, into the world of the Marauders, most probably never to return?

"I'll…promise not to tell…as long as it's harmless. No offence, but if you're involved in some kind of scam-"

"No! it's nothing like that. We just bent the rules a bit…to help out a friend."

"Well, alright, I promise not to tell," I said, trying to sound strong. I found I really did want to know. Potter sighed, and grinned,

"I seriously never thought I'd be telling _you_ this, Lily Evans," he said, and I rolled my eyes,

"Oh, just get on with it!"

"Alright, alright. Well, I suppose I'll start at the beginning,"

"That's always useful," I said, and winced at my own stupidity.

"Don't be smart with me, Evans, I'm the King of smart-"

"You're the king of stalling, more likely-"

"We've only been friends for one day, Evans, the fragile bonds holding us together cannot withstand this kind of-"

"_Potter,_"

"Ok. The three of us - that is, Peter, Sirius and I, figured out about Remus around the middle of second year. We checked the lunar charts and realised that he was disappearing suspiciously at the same time every month. And, being the fool-hardy young things that we were-" here he caught my eye and grinned, " – we decided that the only thing to be done was to become animagi," here he paused to see if I had understood. I hadn't, of course,

"Ani…_animagi?"_ I asked, astounded, "You can't possibly tell me-"

"Oh, yes I can. I – I was the stag, Evans, and Sirius was-"

"_You_ were the stag!" facts were rearranging themselves in my head at lightning speed. Potter was an animagus. Potter had changed into a deer in order to save me…

"Yeah, it took us about three years to learn how to do. You see, we could see how lonely and horrible it was for Moony, locked up in the shrieking shack – you know that place in Hogmeade? That's where he makes his transformations normally – so, yeah, we knew that a were-wolf is only a danger to humans, so if we became _animals,_ then we could be with Lupin when he transformed. We were able to keep him under control, me and Sirius - 'cause we're big animals, and Peter – he's a rat, well, he helped in other ways. The first time we did it, it was scary as hell, I can tell you, but brilliant, too. After that, we saw no reason why we couldn't let Moony out for a run on the school grounds – he was more himself when he was with us – not so violent, you know. Ever since then we've been going out every full moon – all night mostly, and it's been the time of our lives. As animals, we can go anywhere – we know Hogwarts and Hogsmeade back to front, as you can see from that map we made, we've spent the last three years _marauding, _Evans, if you -"

"Wait a second," I said in a hushed voice, struggling to take it all in, "Are you saying that you, as what, fifteen-year-olds, learned to be animaguses? And that you've been running around the school grounds every month with a full grown were-wolf?" I stared at him, my expression, I suspect, a mixture of horror and amazement. He merely nodded, and looked a little less tired than he had a moment ago.

"Dangerous, I know, but-"

"_Dangerous?_ You let a _were-wolf_ run rampant around a populated _town_ where people might feel safe enough not to lock their doorsat night?" My voice was tumbling over itself to get it all out, the sheer audacity of Potter's actions was mind-blowing. When people call him supremely self-confident, they aren't kidding.

"It's under control, Evans, we've done it so many times – there's no chance that Lupin could-"

"Oh yeah, how about last night?"

"That wasn't anything to do with me," he said strongly,

"So? That could've happened-"

"Evans, if it hadn't been for me and Sirius, Remus would've changed in the Great Hall," he said it as if this settled the matter.

"Still," I said, "How can you live with the _possibility _that something might go wrong?" It was incomprehensible to me.

"Must be my brazen nature, I suppose," said Potter flippantly. I glared at him, wiping the smirk from his face. We sat in silence for a while, and then I said,

"Not that I'm not touched by your loyalty to your friend. I suppose it's your business how you express it, but I can't say I approve." My voice was a tad nervous, but Potter smiled at me,

"Thanks…I think," he said quietly, and I was grateful he didn't make some crude joke about earning my approval. I looked at the floor,

"I can't believe you managed to become an animagus," I muttered. This was true, the skill required to change into an animal at will is something few ever achieve, much less three apparently extremely juvenile young boys. In fact, most wizards are discouraged from attempting the feat, as it can have nasty consequences if done incorrectly. Needless to say, it is completely illegal to endeavour to do it without ministry approval. The only other animagus I had met up until this point was Professor McGonagall, whose iron will would probably shake the foundations of the earth if she wanted it to. I always known that Potter and Black excelled in most academic pursuits, but this was beyond anything they could possibly have learnt at school. Their determination to attain their animagus forms must have been incredible. It didn't add up with the blatant arrogance and carelessness they had displayed during their fifth year.

Potter was also studying the carpeted floor,

"It was the hardest thing I've ever done," he said honestly, "It took a monumental amount of research – not something I was accustomed too at the time – and there were many failed attempts. We were astonishingly careful, though, Moony made sure of it. He thought we were going to kill ourselves over it, I think, -" here Potter beamed reminiscently, "But eventually it worked. Because, you know, once we got started, it was kind of hard to let go. We were a bit obsessed, I think, and when we actually did it, well, Evans, I'm afraid you don't know the meaning of the word arrogance. We were literally over the moon – haha – there was nothing we couldn't do!" he grinned with something of the mania of the previous night in his eye. I had an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"You could've been splinched," I muttered, "Very irresponsible, imagine if Professor McGonagall had found out…I mean, it's amazing you…"

"That's just it Evans, McGonagall _didn't _find out. And no one ever will, will they?" suddenly he looked very forbidding.

"No," I mumbled, "I just, I don't know…"

"A crime enough to land us all in Azkaban, of course," said Potter, "And now _you're _an accomplice!" he grinned wickedly,

"I am not!" I cried,

"You are! You know all about it now! There's no going back!" he got up and began caper around the compartment, "Evans is a criminal, Evans is a criminal!"

"I am _not_ a criminal. _You _are a criminal, James Potter," I said indignantly, "You are going against the fair and just system that assures us all our safety, and will probably meet a very sticky end because of it-"

"Alright, calm down, calm down, I was only joking," said Potter condescendingly, as I were over-reacting or something, "There's nothing I can do about it now, is there? And it's not as if we're harming anyone by being animaguses-"

"You would be if you were persuaded to join Voldemort," I said coolly, without thinking about it. Talk about putting a damper on the party. Potter's expression went from light-hearted hilarity to and ugly scowl in seconds,

"I would _never _– Sirius and Peter would _never_ – join Voldemort," he snarled and I tried to push myself further back into my seat,

"Geez, cool it Potter, I was only joking," I said, and I was unpleasantly surprised to hear my voice had taken on a rather nasty note. Potter suddenly blinked and shook his head as if to rid himself of his ill humour, and laughed,

"Don't take that tone," he said, "It doesn't suit you." I was going to attempt to reply cuttingly, but then an overpowering curiosity overtook me,

"Potter," I said quickly, "Could you change now? Into a deer? I don't really remember what you look like." I flushed horribly and wondered wether this was an appropriate request. But, after all, Potter had said we were friends now, even if had accused him of future liaisons with Voldemort.

Potter flashed me an odd look, raising an eyebrow. Then he rose and walked to the door, and I half thought he was going to leave because I had somehow insulted him. But he merely poked his head out the door, glanced dramatically around as if he were about to sneak in and rob a bank or something, and popped back in, muttering a spell under his breath to lock the door. He then turned around, standing in the space between the seats and grinned at me in an embarrassed sort of way. My stomach jerked almost painfully, and I inwardly rolled my eyes at myself.

"Well, Evans, let me formally introduce you to Prongs," said Potter. I looked at him, and one moment he was there, one moment he wasn't, and the next, standing in his place was the stag. Prongs. He was a beautiful creature, I have to say. Long legged and lithe, he was almost completely dark brown, with some lighter fur inside his ears and on his stomach. The shaggy, mane-like fur around his neck was soft and shiny, and the curving antlers that protruded from his shapely head gave him a thoroughly majestic quality. But there was something a little too human about the way he stood, four-legs almost crossed before him, heavily lashed eyelids covering his eyes as he glanced shiftily around the room as if my staring was making him uncomfortable. Daringly, I stepped a little closer, because it did not seem as though I were actually beholding the real James Potter anymore. He was infinitely less disconcerting as a stag.

This feeling evaporated when I caught sight of his eyes, however. McGonagall had remarked, when explaining animagus transformations to us in third year, that certain characteristics often transferred from the person's human form to their animal one. In McGonagall's case, it was the thick, square rimmed classes she always wore that showed through on her cat's face. Potter's fur was too dark to show any markings that might be reminiscent of _his _glasses, but his eyes were distinctly Potterish. Like most deer, his eyes were large and liquid, but they weren't the usual animal brown. They were hazel – with large flecks of green, and they sparkled with laughter. It was this laughter that caused me to do the stupid thing. Now, as you may have noticed, I am continually performing random acts of stupidity, but this really was one of my more idiotic.

I reached out my hand and gently stroked Potter's furry face. Ok, so I was stroking a deer. Fine. You could compare this to Theresa Grey being powerless to restrain herself from gathering up any small furred rodent or feline that crosses her path and doting upon it. And it was kind of like that – I just did it automatically, unthinkingly. But this deer was James Potter, and as my skin made contact with his, he gave an involuntary shiver (which seemed to wrack his entire body) and seemed unable to stop himself from popping back into his human form. Which left me, of course, with my hand resting lightly on Potter's cheek. It probably took me a split second to remove the offending extremity, but it seemed like an age as I watched Potter's eyes bulge out of his head and the blood flood into his face. I waited for him to laugh if off and reassure me that it had only been a wayward yet bitter breeze that had somehow found its way into the carriage, causing him to convulse violently and thereby shocking him into changing shape. I waited for myself to laugh and explain to him about my incorrigible urge to pet all furred animals that I chance to meet and that he shouldn't take it personally. When it became obvious, after several minutes, that neither of us were inclined to say any such thing, I muttered something about needing to check on Jude Maloney and Peter Blanc to make sure they hadn't killed each other yet.

Potter didn't attempt to follow me after that, thankfully, and for the rest of the train trip I made a business of patrolling the corridors of the train (although not the prefect's one) and making a general annoyance out of myself. I bumped into Remus Lupin on his way back from the trolley lady, laden with pumpkin pasties, and I gave him an uncharacteristic pat on the shoulder and an unconvincing smile. He shot me a bewildered look and I continued to make my way along the corridor, poking my head into compartments and saying things like,

"Is everything alright in there?"

It wasn't until I'd got of the train, bidden Tory and Celine goodbye and was standing in a sea of late-night commuters in Muggle London that I remembered that I hadn't told my parents I was coming home today, so they wouldn't be there with their nice warm muggle car to pick me up. Even worse, I had no change to call them and no owl to owl them. Whimpering, I kicked my suitcase, received an odd look from the porter and heaved my luggage onto a trolley. Whilst cursing myself for not taking my apparation exam, stroking Potter's head, and agreeing to being a bridesmaid for Petunia on Wednesday, I rattled over to the nearest timetable to see how I was going to get home. 


	14. Of Marraige and Movies

_DISCLAIMER_: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**The Truth**

_OF MARRIAGE AND MOVIES_

_Thursday 12th of February_

Well, that's it then. The knot has been tied, the vows have been made, there's no going back. Petunia Emily Evans is an Evans no more. At this moment she is probably glaring anxiously out of an aeroplane window as Vernon vomits into a paper bag (He freely admits that he has never been a traveller), hoping that she will reach Hawaii soon. I can't think why they decided to honeymoon in Hawaii. I tried to imagine Petunia reclining on the sand with a hibiscus in her a hair and failed completely. Despite having a complexion to rival that of any ghost, she's a compulsive neat-freak and will probably be unable to deal with anything of the sandy persuasion. I can just see the headlines now, 'Proper English Newlywed Attempts to Sweep Away Entire Beach into Waters off Honolulu'. Oh well. Maybe this holiday will loosen her up. Doubt it.

The big day, of course, was yesterday, though it felt more like a big month, or a big year. Petunia was frantic when I arrived home on Monday night – she didn't even stop to express her displeasure at my presence. She fretted over the imaginary people she had probably forgotten to invite, she fretted over the menu for the reception, and she fretted over the fact that the cake shop had been forced to decorate the cake with yellow sugar roses instead of pink because they had run out of pink food dye. I almost felt sorry for her. Vernon found it hard to comfort her, and (like the coward he is) he told Petunia he loved her, said something about Marjorie, his sister, and disappeared at around nine o'clock. I was going to follow his example and get an early night (My parents appeared to have missed the owl Dumbledore had sent informing all parents of recent events at the school, and I decided not to enlighten them at such a hectic time. They didn't notice that I'd arrived home a day early), but I had no such luck.

"_Lily,_" said my Mother, looking almost as frenzied as Petunia, "Do you realise that the wedding's on Wednesday, and you haven't even tried on that dress we fitted you out for?" I nodded tiredly. As if I could forget.

"_Well?_ Quickly, I'll go and get it now. You duck into the other room-"

"I'm sure that could wait for tomorrow, dear?" said my father suddenly, breaking out of the defensive silence he had been occupying all evening. I grinned at him gratefully, and my mother looked cross,

"Lily, this is your sister's wedding! Show a little-"

"Mum, she wouldn't come if _I _had a wedding!"

"She would to! I'd make her!" shouted my mother triumphantly, and then her face fell as a suspicion formed in her anxious brain, "You aren't going to…I mean you wouldn't just _have_ a wedding, would you? Those boys who came before…I mean, you aren't…"

I stared at her incredulously, unable to speak, thinking that my mother was on drugs. There was a pause in which my father snorted into his cup of tea, spilling some on Ginger the cat, who promptly hissed angrily and bounded out of the room.  I resisted the urge to giggle,

"Why of course," I said, "I'm planning to elope with Potter, if you must know!" The look on my mother's face when I said this was worth a photograph. She glared at me,

"Very funny, Lily," she said coldly, "I'm just worried about Petunia, alright? It's not easy for her, you know-"

"What, not easy to get married to some rich _drill_ guy, not easy to finally get rid of any association with _me-_"

"Lily, sisters sometimes don't get on, but you should think of the future, one day you will need each other-"

"Oh come on, she'll probably tell her children she never had a sister! I can see it now!" to my surprise, I was now feeling quite angry. My mum didn't look cross anymore, only sad. She sat down next to my dad and he patted her comfortingly. I scowled and flounced out of the room, feeling inexplicably furious.

"If only Petunia had gone to Hogwarts too…" I heard my mum mutter as I took the stairs two at time. Bah, it all boiled down to 'if only Petunia had gone to Hogwarts'. She had been jealous when I'd first gone, I was sure of that, but how was my eleven-year-old self supposed to deal with an envious sister other than to plant frogspawn in her bedclothes and flobberworms in her coat pockets? It wasn't as if were my fault that she wasn't a witch. Of course, now, Petunia isn't jealous, she just thinks I'm a freak. I suppose, if I really thought about it in any serious way I would say that this is a kind of defence she's talked herself into to protect herself from the jealousy, but she's said some pretty horrible things to me over the years, so I don't think I will.

The next day passed in a flash. As  soon as I was up, my mother had me slaving over a hot stove cooking a late lunch and dinner for the various relatives who had arrived on afternoon flights, and in between times she forced me into my bride's maid's dress and went over exactly what I was supposed to do. I was scornful and flippant, for it wasn't as if I had to anything more than hold my bouquet and look pretty. It was rather a tedious day; my cousin Joella behaved obscenely for the greater part of it, bugging me to carry out small magics whenever I looked even vaguely idle and continually performing small annoyances like tipping cranberry sauce down the backs of guests (for which I was blamed, "Lily, if you can't even keep your little cousin under control…"). In the evening we all trooped down to the church for the rehearsal, and it went off without a hitch, much to the relief of all those present, because Petunia was so highly strung by now that even the slightest step out of line would have caused her to fly off the handle. Fortunately, my uncle Tim, who had been away on errands most of the day, had read Joey a stern lecture about how to conduct herself on his return, so she was a perfect little bridesmaid the entire time.

As you can imagine, I was very tired on Tuesday night, and went to bed as early as I could, as I was to be woken at the crack of dawn to have my hair done. At the hairdresser's my poor hair was brushed, sprayed, curled, glittered and beflowered to within an inch of its life, which I thought was unnecessary as Petunia couldn't care less how I looked. But my mother, however, did care, and when it was time to put my dress on, she made sure I stepped into it so as not to ruin my hair and make-up. The dress, by the way, was _pink_. Baby pink, made of that shiny, silky stuff. But I ask you, _pink?_ A red head's worst nightmare. Ok, so at least it wasn't magenta or something, and at least my hair wasn't carrot coloured, but it was still pink. I do think my mother might have steered Petunia away from it when she was choosing the dresses. It was knee-length, with a loose drop-waist, a mildly pleated skirt, and a completely out-of-place row of embroidered roses around the neck line. It was sleeveless and it was done up at the top with a bow on each shoulder. A very strange looking dress. Actually, now I come to think of it, I don't think Petunia could have chosen it. It is completely not her style, she goes for more traditional clothes. In retrospect, I think our twenty-seven-year-old obscure-fashion-line-owning cousin Mabel must have had a hand in it. Possibly she even designed it. Anyway, with the dress I had to wear some shiny white high-heels and some white roses on my head, and carry my own little bunch. Together, Joey and I were pretty as a picture. Unfortunately, the other two bridesmaids (prudish friends of Petunia) were both strawberry blonde and succeeded in looking much better than either of us.

It was kind of fun, arriving at the church in our white bridal cars, listening to people I'd never even heard of before chat animatedly with my family, witnessing Vernon's face go purple when he did up his collar too tightly. And the actual ceremony was as nice as could be expected. When Petunia said, 'I do', and really smiled with genuine pleasure, I caught myself feeling happy for her, which was quite a shock. I must have looked a bit odd, because Joey, who was standing beside me on the altar, nudged me and nodded at the two strawberry blondes, who were shooting me disapproving glares.

The celebration afterward was a success, too. The food was great, particularly the ice-cream, and when Vernon made some sappy speech about how wonderful Petunia was, and how wonderful we all were, I was so bubbly from my several glasses of champagne that I forgave him his over-fed penguin-like appearance and grinned at him. I can't say he smiled back, because he didn't (actually he looked quite terrified), but I suddenly didn't care. When the dancing started I really got into it, and my relatives were surprised at my enthusiasm. My mother smiled proudly at me and winked, as if she were thanking me for something. I shrugged this off and, taking the copious amount of roses out of my hair, I threw them into the air. A Beatles song began to play, and I was reminded of Celine, which reminded me that I hadn't asked a friend to wedding as my mother had instructed me to. I suddenly wondered what James Potter was doing right now. Was he alone in his empty house, or were his friends there to keep him company?  I felt a lump form in my throat. I watched my mum and dad slowly rotating in the middle of the hall they had hired out, next to the happy couple. I sighed.

After the wedding, we were all tired, but oh so happy. Well, Petunia and Vernon were happy, anyway, and I suppose that's the main thing, it being their wedding night. They bid fond farewells to their friends, family and obscure acquaintances, and seeing as they only had eyes for each other, my presence did not mar their lovey-dovey mood. Like the dutiful daughter I was, I worked like a Trojan to get the hall cleaned up, along with my mother, my father, Joella, Uncle Tim, Vernon's parents, Vernon's sister, the strawberry blondes and several other people. At around eight o'clock, Petunia and Vernon went gaily off in their heavily beribboned vehicle to the wonderful new home they had acquired (after months of painful searching) where Vernon would, perhaps, carry Petunia tipsily over the threshold of her new life at number four, Privet Drive Little Whinging, Surrey. And then straight back out the door eight hours later to catch their early morning flight to Hawaii, of course. My mother sobbed piteously as we waved them off, and my father put a comforting hand on her shoulder and tried not to laugh. I felt a mixture of emotions. Firstly I felt relieved, because now there would be no snide little comments about my witchy nature, secondly I was happy, because now I would be able to perform magic around the house without causing certain family members to have apoplectic fits of rage, but lastly I felt a momentary pang of remorse, because now Celine would not be able to randomly show up in our living room and gush, "Oh, _Pet,_ it's _ever_ so good to see you again!"

_Friday 13th of February_

Ah, what an ominous date. As is befitting, today was overcast and rainy. Nothing much happened. Most of the relatives have left and we've been clearing up the their subsequent mess. I told my parents about Voldemort. They didn't really understand. How could they?

_Saturday 14th of February_

Quiet without Petunia around. Nothing much to do. Reorganised my bedroom four times today. I wonder if this is what is known as 'being driven to distraction'?

_Sunday 15th of February_

Bloody hell. Still no word from the school. Still no word from _anyone_. Been thinking about Potter's little secret a lot. Thinking about Voldemort. You'd think Celine or Tory could've sent me a letter, wouldn't you?

_Monday 16th of February_

Finally, I actually did something. My state of permanent homework-lessness and boredom got to me when I woke up at seven-thirty this morning with nothing to do and a horrible ill-temper that caused my mum to drop and smash her favourite tea-cup in surprise. Guilt over this did nothing to quell my despairing sense of injustice. _Why _hadn't I taken my apparition test? Then I could simply zip across to the other side of London and visit Celine. _Why _hadn't I purchased an owl? Then _it_ could simply zip across to Celine's. After I had spent a good few hours venting my spleen, when my mother was on the point of throwing me out of the house to cool down, my salvation (or doom, whichever way you want to think about it) finally arrived. I was in the midst of telling my father that his favourite football player from ten years ago was nothing but a money-loving, ugly, perverted old sod when there was a knock at the door. I stomped down the hall and quite rudely flung open the door, fully expecting one of Petunia's snotty friends here about one or another of the many misplaced items from the wedding. We had become a kind of public lost property bin, and I was getting sick of it. And so you can imagine how the look of angry disgust I had procured for Petunia's friend's benefit turned to one of embarrassed surprise when I saw that the person on the doorstep was none other than James Potter himself. I blushed, of course, as I am wont to do, and the awkward silence that followed his nervous 'hello' was mortifying. When I felt the silence could not go any longer without causing reality to crack under the strain, I stammered,

"Uh…Potter…wasn't expecting you…thought it would be one of my sister's friends, you see…"

"Oh, that's alright…I just came around to-"

"Oh well, I suppose you can come in if you want-"

"You _suppose?_ Oh, Evans-"

"Sorry, sorry, not in a very good mood today-"

"We _are _still friends, aren't we?"

"Well, yes…have to think about a few things…"

"Look, I'm-"

"Sorry-"

"Oh, _hello!_ James Potter, wasn't it? How lovely to see you again, dear!" Yes, you guessed it. My mother had come up behind me, pushing past me to show that she had not yet forgiven me for my foul disposition all morning, but was willing to put it aside for the sake the Potter. After being assured he wasn't about to whirl me away to get married in some foreign country never to be heard of again, my mother had quickly regained her enthusiasm for my 'getting to know him better'. It was quite uncanny, actually, and I had voiced suspicions to my father that perhaps the wondrous Potter had cast some sort of spell on her.

"Oh, hello Mrs Evans," said Potter, looking slightly taken aback. I groaned inwardly. I had to take control of the situation before it escalated.

"Would you like some tea, James? You could meet Pete, that's Lily's father, of course-"

"Oh," I said desperately, prepared to go to drastic measures to prevent my mother from spending the next few hours interrogating Potter in the living room while I sat by and squirmed. Anything would be better,

 "I don't think we have time, do we Potter?" I squeaked, "If we want to see that movie-"

"Movie?" Potter looked confused, but thankfully my mother didn't notice,

"Yes, Potter," I glared at him and smiled falsely, "The _movie _you're taking me to. It starts in half an hour, doesn't it?" My mother was looking rapturously from one of us to the other, and then Potter suddenly clicked, and to my horror a broad grin manifested itself on his face,

"Oh, yes, the movie. Well, we can't be late, can we? Good to see you, Mrs Evans. Come along, Lily," gesturing for me to follow, he waved brightly to my mother and began to walk back down the garden path. I now had no choice but to follow, and glancing behind me, I saw a worried expression flicker across my mothers face. So _now_ she was finally coming to her senses. Silly woman. But there was nothing she could do now, so she waved back. Father, who had probably been listening to the entire doorway conversation, joined her at the door, doubled over in fits of laughter, and waved too. I sent him a despairing look, and he nodded, but continued to laugh quietly.

When Potter and I were finally down the street and around the corner, he turned to me, his face surprisingly serious,

"If I didn't know better," he said in a low voice, "I would say that you just willingly sent yourself on a date with James Potter. Congratulations, you have achieved the unachievable-"

"It is _not_ a date! I was getting us out of spending the afternoon locked in the house with my mother-" Potter cut me off by raising a hand,

"I have of course never seen a 'movie', but I am smart enough to know that it is a muggle entertainment often engaged in by boys and girls who-"

"Potter, people who are just _friends _can see movies together, it doesn't have to be a _date_, and anyway, it was just an excuse, we don't have to see a movie – and what did you come to my house for in the first place, anyway?" I said this all in one breath, rushing to get it all out whilst trying not to look at his face, or think about the incident on the train…

"Oh, well," Potter was blushing now,  not looking so sure of himself, "Just to see how you were…I mean, you can't apparate, and I knew you probably wouldn't be seeing anyone…and I was all alone at home…thought I'd-"

"Wait a second, I thought that git Sirius lived with you-"

"Yeah he did, but he's been at his cousin's all week…something to do with money….don't know the details," Potter looked a little sad for a moment, but then recovered himself, "Don't call my best friend a git!" he said, pretending to be offended,

"It's his own fault," I said, trying to sound self-righteous, "_He_ is toying with the emotions of _my_ friend-"

"Oh, that's bullocks. She knows what she's doing. She's got Sirius strung up and right where she wants him, if you ask me, he's been _pining _for her. Sirius never pines, Evans-"

"Oh, right. As if Tory would ever _string _someone up!" I saw Potter hesitate, saw him measure the consequences, and decide,

"Wouldn't put it past her. That's one sly bitch you've got there, Evans!" I gaped at him, and saw red,

"How _dare_ you!" I cried hotly, "How dare you come to my house and start insulting my friends! You arrogant-"

"Evans-"

"_Flippant,_ ill-mannered-"

"A joke Evans! Have mercy! I was merely winding you up for my own perverted pleasure!" I stopped mid-tirade, and glared at him sullenly,

"Twerp," I said, coldly. I wished I had better control of my temper. And was perceptive enough to deduce when I was being deliberately stirred. He laughed, and said,

"Well, what do you want to do?"

"Stay away from _you_!" I said promptly,

"No, seriously, what-"

"Oh, we _could _go to the movie, I _suppose_," I said childishly,

"Oh, _alright,_ if we _have_ to!" said Potter, imitating my dulcet tones. I glared at him, and then, feeling curiously enlightened (even though I was about to sit through a movie with James Potter), I actually laughed and said,

"Alright, come on then. Only if you really don't want to, though,"

"Oh, I assure you I don't. The very idea repels me,"

"Well, as long as we have that straight,"

"Oh, you're right. It would be a terrible thing if you and I began to enjoy each other's company for prolonged periods of time,"

"Don't push it, Potter," I said gruffly, realising that I had left the house without a jacket and consequently was getting very cold. Potter began to scuff at the ground with his sneaker. It seemed, I thought dimly, that he fluctuated between being confident and witty to being nervous and bashful in mere seconds. It appeared that whenever the conversation did not revolve around some sort of mockery of a person/place/thing (primarily me) that he lost his nerve, as it were.

"Call me James, then?" he said suddenly, taking his spectacles off and staring straight at me. I blinked. The thought to call him by his Christian name had never occurred to me. It did not seem a natural course of action. I decided to try to change the subject,

"How often do you clean your glasses per day, because honestly-"

"I – I would like it if you called me James-"

" –Tory has glasses – only reading glasses, granted – but she hardly ever seems to clean them-"

"It's just, well, when you say _Potter_, it just seems so-"

"Do they fog up all the time, then?"

"Please?" This last, beseeching plea halted my steady flow of inanity, and I was forced to look him in the eye. The beautiful, green-flecked eye, with its oddly long lashes…

"Um," I stared helplessly. Could I call him 'James'? There didn't seem to be any reason not to…but it seemed a little bit like giving in, for some reason…I'd been calling him the derogatory _Potter!_ For the past six and a half years…

"I'll call you Lily…that's if you don't mind…and you could call me James, or even 'Prongs', if you want," he was talking in an odd, husky voice, and it looked like it cost him a lot to plead with me. I blinked again.

"Well," I said, slowly, "I suppose I could try…sometimes…sometimes you could be James." Potter made an excited noise, and was about to open his mouth when I said,

"The subject is closed. You are not one up on me or anyway. I can retract my kind offer at any time." This got an exasperated sigh out of him,

"It's not a competition anymore, you know. I'm not about to run away to Sirius and brag about how I got you to say my name. But… I suppose it's my fault, I was such a prat-"

"Yes, you were. And besides, I _haven't _said your name yet, have I?" I grinned, satisfied, and he ran a hand through his hair bemusedly.

"Well," he said, after a while, "This movie…where is it?"

"It's in town. We'll have to catch a bus,"

"A bus? A _muggle_ bus?"

"Yes. What's wrong with a muggle bus?"

"Nothing. I was just relieved we weren't catching the Knight Bus,"

"The Knight Bus?"

"Oh, it's wizarding public transport. Terrible thing. I've been sick every time I've gone on it."

After that we made our way to the nearest bus stop, and caught a rattling old double-decker to the local cinema. On the way, Potter, _James_, chivalrously offered me the use of his jacket, as the bus windows seemed to be stuck open, but I politely declined. I did not think it was appropriate. The film was an all right sort of a story, though I don't remember too much about it. I am ashamed to say that I was a little two preoccupied with the person next to me, who, whilst attempting to seem completely engrossed in the movie, kept glancing at me out of the corner of his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking. When he did this again for the umpteenth time, nearing the end of the movie, I laughed outright and threw a handful of popcorn at him. Unfortunately some of it landed on the trio of ten-year-olds sitting beside him, and they took this as an invitation to start something. Let it suffice to say that the cleaner whose job it was to vacuum that particular cinema really earned his money today. I don't think I have acted more immaturely in years (without the influence of Celine Varaten, of course). I giggled uncontrollably until the people sitting behind me told me to shut it and James tried to stuff popcorn down the back of my shirt. The ten year olds probably thought the pair of us were regular basket cases, but, surprisingly for me, I found I didn't actually care. It was invigorating. I was on some king of popcorn high. We left as soon as the credits began to roll, receiving disapproving glares from behind and a thumbs up from the ten-year-olds. It was around five o'clock. When we got out onto the street, I looked at James,

"You've got popcorn in your hair," I said,

"So have you," he replied, looking flushed,

"That was embarrassing," I said, grinning, and brushed myself off. I shivered, realising it had become extremely cold.

"D'you want a lend of my jacket _now_?" he asked. I immediately felt self-consciousness again,

"No," I said, "You would be cold, then." And then we got on the bus, which, luckily, didn't have a dodgy window.

When we got back to my house, dark clouds had gathered overhead and it was starting to spit. We stood outside my gate, facing each other.

"Well…" I said, feeling fluttery in the stomach, "That was nice." Pretty pathetic thing to say, really.

"It – it was," agreed James, cleaning his glasses, "Glad we did it-"

"Yes…yes-"

"Well…"

"Well, d'you want to come in or anything…?" I couldn't believe how nervous I felt. It was hard, being civil to James Potter, after all these years of having obligatory, invariably rude exchanges with him. James looked at the ground,

"Better not…Sirius is actually coming back to night…my house might attack him or something if I'm not there…"

"Oh, well, that's quite all right-"

"Lily?"

"Yes, Po-James?" I felt a pleasurable shiver go up my spine. He smiled.

"Thanks. And all that I said on the train…you all right with that?" I gasped. We'd been together all afternoon, and not mentioned it (or Voldemort, for that matter) once. What could I say?

"Well…I suppose. It's your business what you do. I'm not about to tell anyone." He looked me in the eyes, and nodded solemnly,

"I trust you, Lily Evans," he proclaimed, as if bestowing a great gift upon me. I gave a small smile. Six months ago I would have found this small arrogance irritating. Now it made me laugh,

"Thankyou. I shall do my best to uphold the honour," I said, seriously. He stared at me, wide eyed, for a second, and then snorted,

"Ha, well, you know, you can't go much better than the Great James Potter Code of Honour," he said. I sighed.

"Why am I talking to you?" I asked plaintively, "Why did I just go and see a movie with you?"

"I just don't know," he said, seriously, "Perhaps you're mad."

"I'm starting to think so,"

"Ah well, can't be helped. I'll see you. Sirius'll be into to the cellars if I don't hurry." And with that he gave me a wide smile and disappeared with a soft pop. I sighed, my emotions a mixture of contentedness and horrible gut-wrenching confusion. Then a thought occurred to me. I stamped my foot in frustration. I was back in the position I had started, with no way to contact anyone. And I was at James' beck and call, too, because even if I _did _have an owl, I didn't know his address. Damn. I went back into the house, wondering if I would be able to get past my mother without being simultaneously pounced on, gushed over and grilled about exactly where I had been and what movie I had seen.

No such luck.


	15. Surly Shirley

_DISCLAIMER_: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

****

**The Truth**

_Monday 23rd of February_

Hello and welcome to yet another day in the exciting life of Lily Evans. Oh sorry, did I say exciting? I meant prolonged and torturous. Finally we are back at school. Back to the drudgery and hardship that is our NEWT course. Why ever did I wish to return to school? We arrived last night to find the school the same but for a few subtle changes. Like the appearance of extremely large thug-like auror-types with fierce faces and scary eyebrows at seemingly random positions around the school. They are, apparently, the Ministry's contribution to Hogwart's security. Dumbledore has also, he informs us, placed innumerable defensive charms and spells on every opening into the castle. I just hope he has accounted for the multiple secret passageways I saw on the Marauder's Map. Anyway, according to the authorities, we are now completely safe. Safer, in fact, than we would be at home. I wanted to point out that if this was the case, then why didn't we invite everyone's friends and families to come and live here with us as the castle has more empty rooms than Celine has freckles, but I didn't get the chance. I hope my parents aren't in any danger.

Anyway, back to our arrival. I had spent a greater part of the trip on the Hogwart's Express casually berating Celine and Tory for not getting in touch with me during our time off, mainly because Celine had begun to talk about James and Tory was following her lead. Everyone was getting a little tetchy by the end of the trip, and accusations were starting to be made. They went something along the lines of:

"Celine, I was all alone without an Owl or any way of knowing what was going on!"

"Lily, you saw Potter, I _know _you did! I know it!"

"Celine, you were probably too busy getting it on with-"

"You can talk, Lily, I mean, _Potter-_"

"Tory, shut it, will you? Just because you're so rapt in bloody Black-"

"I am not! You're the one who's 'rapt' in Potter-"

"Liar,"

"Shut up, you two, you're boring as shit!"

"I know for a fact that Black can't be trusted around alcohol. You're making a bad choice, Tory."

"Oh yes? And how do you know that? Did you have a cosy little conversation with Potter about him?"

"Yep. I heard from Toby's friend Michael that his little cousin saw Lily and-"

"Argh! What's wrong with you?"

So yes, tempers are running embarrassingly high, but you know, you can hardly blame us. We're in the midst of a war we know nothing about, and we also have a work load I wouldn't wish on Lina Matherson. Today was horrible, horrible torture. In Transfiguration, I wasn't talking to Celine because she'd spilt pumpkin juice all over my porridge, Tory wasn't talking to me because I'd gone a little too far with the Black-ribbing (this was after he'd yelled right in my ear to 'rise and shine' when I was looking peaky at breakfast, mind you), and Celine wasn't talking to Tory because she'd said Lina Matherson's hair was pretty (Celine took this to mean that _her_ hair wasn't pretty, and that Tory actually liked Lina Matherson). Anyway, the upshot of it all was that in Transfiguration I was forced to sit next to Theresa Grey, who told be all about the shopping spree she'd gone on the week before, the dress that hadn't fitted her and the rude security guard who had kicked her out of the shop for loitering. And _then_, because I'd been doing my best to drown out all surrounding noises, including Theresa Grey, I didn't hear when Professor McGonagall explained about the transfiguration of limbs and extremities, so I struggled the entire lesson and received extra homework and McGonagall's best I'm-so-damn-inflexible-I'll-probably-have-heart-failure-before-I-hit-fifty stern glare.

After Transfiguration, in the interests of self-preservation, I decided to apologise to Tory, explaining that of course Black was a nice guy, and of course I didn't mind that he was a tad unstable at the moment. Unfortunately Tory took my weary, slightly desperate tones to be sarcasm and stormed off in a huff. I was so desperate not to spend another lesson in the company of Theresa and/or Lina and Louisa that I even tempted to clear Celine's pumpkin juice stained slate and start again, but then she went and said something like,

"Hey, Lily, you and lover-boy here been having a little tiff? You haven't talked to him all day!" Right in front of James Potter when we were waiting outside Potions. I, of course, being Lily Evans, performed the whole white-with-anger followed by profuse blushing thing, and James said,

"Oh, yes. We've decided we're well and truly through," and then Celine said,

"Already?" and then Professor Lalli said,

"Oh, you're all here early! Does that mean you're all ready and rearing to go?" and then Sirius Black said,

"No, it means we're all suicidal maniacs with nothing better to do."

Professor Lalli did not answer this at first, and I thought that Sirius might actually have managed to insult her, but then I realised she was just fishing around in her bag for today's potions recipe as she opened the door to the classroom,

"Today we're making Stabilising Solution! To stabilise the sick and wounded! Guaranteed to stop heavy bleeding within seconds, you know," she beamed.

It turned out that the Stabilising Solution required a deeply complex and tiring process involving a drop of Kneazle blood at exactly the right millisecond. By the end of it I was covered in dog liver and seriously contemplating murdering Professor Lalli, who does all our potions herself alongside us (for fun), and whose solution gleamed a irritatingly accurate shade of metallic purple. As we trudged wearily back to Gryffindor Tower, Celine and I shot each other death glares and Sirius said that he wouldn't have been able to cut the tension in the air with a chainsaw. At this point, James gave him an inexplicable shove from the side so that he was sent sprawling into a nearby pot plant containing an animated cactus (Do not ask why it was there. Professor Sprout the Herbology Teacher is probably on drugs). Unfortunately the cactus was sorely angered by this invasion of its personal space, and Black ended up in the hospital wing covered in prickles and swearing vengeance on both the pot plant and James Potter. Lina, Theresa and Louisa thought it was all very funny, of course, and Lina even forgot that she was supposed to be moping about the danger her father was in on the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, and laughed herself silly for about half an hour while Celine and I ground our teeth together.

Lunchtime served not purpose other than to aggravate us all further. A couple of wannabe pranksters from fourth year attempted to make everyone's spoons run away from their owners in the hope of having a thousand or so students milling around trying to rescue them. This insightful and incredibly witty trick went horribly wrong and instead of running _away_ from their owners, the spoons became attracted to them, rather like a paperclips to a giant magnet, as did the soup, the napkins and other miscellaneous objects that happened to be sitting on the table. It was not particularly pleasurable to sit round afterwards, covered in tomato soup, and listen to James, Sirius and Peter Pettigrew discuss how distasteful and ill-timed the prank had been. The culprits, a pair by the names of Josephine Langton and Samuel Vo will, I hope, be unable to hold their heads up in public for a very long time.

Anyway, the rest of the day was pretty much uneventful apart from an occasional snide comment from Celine, a few tussles between James and Sirius and the odd exasperated sigh from me. Now it is ten o'clock at night and I have managed to become friendless, hapless and bad tempered all in one infuriatingly long day. Hopefully tomorrow will be better, but I very much doubt it because I did not do the Athrithmancy exercise I had for homework and Professor Fangmorton will go on to the next one assuming that I have.

_Friday 27th of February_

Well I suppose today is, at least, Friday, which gives it a distinct advantage in the popularity stakes over, say, Monday or Thursday. Thursday is always a particularly horrible day, I was always say, because it is possible to wake up on Thursday morning believing it to be Friday (or even Saturday if you're really hopeful), which makes it twice as horrible when you realise it's only Thursday and that Professor McGonagall's five-foot essay is due first thing. There were of course several others things about today that put it a cut above the rest. Firstly, I extricated myself from the OLCC (Eggy Crilmer's Charm Club) once and for all, and although it wasn't pretty I felt quite proud of myself. The nerdish Eggy had approached me at breakfast; that absurd, overly enthusiastic, pompous look on his face. Almost as if I could read his mind, I knew what he was going to say, and beat him to it,

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Eggy, but I really can't do it anymore."

"What?" he asked, nonplussed. Sometimes you really wouldn't believe he got four outstanding OWLs in fifth year.

"I'd like to…er…to quit the Charms Club. To not be…part of it anymore…I'm sorry…"

"_Lily!" _Crilmer looked baffled, and I had a pang of guilt, "Your one of our most talented members! We need you!"

"No, Eggy, I'm sorry. I've just got too much work." And with that, I turned assertively on my heel and strode away, deaf to cries of,

"You're going to regret you're decision, you just see if you don't!' which the mildly enraged Charms fanatic hurled at my retreating back.

Having successfully washed my hands of the Charms Club, I was feeling empowered and daringly sat next to James Potter to eat. I had not talked to him more than in passing since we got back to school. This was partly because I had been too busy and partly because I did not feel like talking to Tory and Celine (who are back to being my best buddies because it was altogether too tiring to remain at odds) about our little trip to the movies. James seemed pleased, anyhow, and to my relief the other Marauders were nowhere to seen.

"Morning," he said, smiling at me, "Did you…er…have a good week?" I blinked,

"Excuse me?" I asked incredulously,

"All right, sorry. That was a stupid question. Will you make it through today?" I pretended to give this serious thought,

"Well," I said, "It is a possibility. I may just do it if Fangmorton is somehow sick today and we get someone else for Arithmancy."

"Oh yes," said James rolling his eyes, "Ole Fangers. God, I don't know what Dumbledore was thinking, when he employed that old sow." I gave him a quizzical look, then smirked slightly,

"You're just scared of her," I said, because it was partly true. James usually refuses to be intimidated by most teachers, but when it comes to Anne-Marie Fangmorton, he and Sirius behave like whipped curs. I am not quite certain as to why this is the case, as 'Ole Fangers' has never issued either of them with a detention. Sirius, off course, tried it on a bit when we first got her after Professor George left, but I'm assuming I missed out on being privy to a few very serious threats from Herself, because in Arithmancy, Black can now be quelled with the simplest of stern glares.

"I am not!" said James,

"You are! You're _Head Boy_, but you still think she's going to…I don't know, what exactly do you think she's going to do?" I looked at him curiously, and he stared back at me, running his hand through his hair embarrassedly. I suddenly wondered what it would be like to run my own hands through it, and quickly locked my fingers into fists on the table. I was still being careful not to give much thought to _that_ side of matters.

"Well," he said in a low voice, breaking into my thoughts, "I don't really know. But it's not funny! She scares me. She _does_ have something…about her. She's _evil_!" I snorted. It was amazing what could be extracted from Potter when you were his friend.

"She's strict, yes. And bad tempered. But she hasn't done anything evil." I grinned, amused. James did not share my mirth. He glanced uncomfortably around the Great Hall,

"She gave Anthony Jansen a week's detention for blowing his nose in class!" he whispered theatrically.

"Where'd you hear that? From Celine?"

"From Theresa Grey."

"Well there you are. Almost certainly not true-"

"Sirius says she approves of corporal punishment. Reckons she's been torturing first years in the dungeons, prob'ly using Filche's old equipment-"

"Sirius is even more terrified of her than you are!"

"With reason, I tell you! She's creepy!"

"She's just a bitter old lady with an attitude problem. She's probably lonely…"

"Lily, why are you defending Professor Fangmorton?" I stared at him for a second, and then shook my head,

"I don't know. Just too used to arguing with you, I suppose." He pretended to look hurt,

"Six years of bitter squabbling! My loyal adoration only met with scorn at every turn-"

"Adoration?" I asked thoughtlessly, and suddenly my jovial, light hearted frame of mind was gone, to be replaced by a nervous knot in the pit of my stomach. The change in the mood was almost audible, and I couldn't work out precisely why. Why is it that whenever I had a vaguely serious conversation with James I feel inexplicably in over my head?

"Oh," said the James, his grin fading as if it had never been, "Well…there's...well you _should_…I mean…anyway, we'll be late to class…don't want to give Fangers an excuse to put us up for torture, I mean detention…" and with that he gathered up his bag from under the table and rose abruptly. Leaving my half-finished strawberry jam on toast, I made to follow him, half wanting to delve deeper into whatever it was that we were talking about, half scared out of my wits.

"It's still ten minutes until the bell," I remarked as we set a cracking pace out of the Great Hall,

"Yes," replied James absently, "You never can be too early, of course." I followed him in silence for a few minutes, but when it became obvious that he was not actually heading for the Arithmancy Classroom at all, I stopped in my tracks and cleared my throat. Looking as if he would rather have kept going, James turned around and regarded me apprehensively.

"Um…this isn't the way to Arithmancy?" I said softly, and was surprised to find that every muscle in my body was tense as if suspecting some kind of attack. I tried to relax. James looked at his surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. We were in a dark hallway that I thought might be leading down to the dungeons.

"Oh," he said, "You're right." He looked extremely worried about something and I stepped closer to him,

"What's wrong?" I asked, "Did I say something to upset you?" I knew this was dangerous ground to walk on, but I seemed to be unable to stop myself.

"Upset me?" he asked feebly, "No, no…what are you talking about…"

"I-"

"Better get to Arithmancy, eh?" Suddenly my brain cleared itself of all fuzziness and distraction. What was I doing, exactly? Gripping reality firmly between my teeth, I smiled,

"Yes," I said, "We should."

"Yes," he replied, and I could see by the grimace on his face that he was feeling like a complete idiot. I gave a sudden laugh,

"What?" he asked softly, still blushing,

"We are a pair of fools," I said, not really knowing why I said it.

"I am no fool," retorted James,

"Then why are you standing in a dungeon corridor staring at _me_ when you should be in Professor Fangmorton's Athrimancy class?" I asked, feeling and sounding like a smart-arse.

"Because…because…" he scratched his neck and managed to look both wretched and endearing at the same time, "Oh, bloody…can't see…" he made a sudden, frustrated noise in the back of his throat and glared down at me, "Oh, come on," he said, and to my surprise, grabbed my hand and began to march off down the hallway, tugging me behind him. ignoring the pleasant feeling of my hand in his, I followed.

When we arrived at the Athrimancy classroom, it became apparent that we had lost track of the time. Having dropped my hand like a hot brick before entering, I saw James take a deep breath and meet Professor Fangmorton's evil eye. A bead of sweat was already making its way down his forehead. I tried to avoid the raised eyebrows of my classmates, and while I was thankful neither Celine nor Tory were present, Sirius Black's all-his-Christmases-had-come-at-once grin was just as bad. 'Where have you been with James Potter?' his maddening eyes were asking. Fearfully, I looked to the Professor. Her, thin, bird-like features were arranged neatly in her seat, her body clenched with the air of some terrible creature lying in wait for its prey. A steely eyed, rigid creature with no immediate desire to eat. A creature content to draw out the demise of its captive.

"Well, head boy, head girl, do you have a reason for being fifteen minutes late for your most important class?" she asked languidly. Listening to Professor Fangmorton's voice is like sinking your two front teeth into a bowl of ice cream. No one even dared to sneer into their textbooks. Unsurprisingly, in the presence of Ole Fangers, James was unable to make up his usual load of garbage, and I had to step in for him.

"We're really sorry, Professor," I began, trying to sound sucky but not too sucky, "Professor Dumbledore kept us late after breakfast. To talk about the prefect's patrol timetables and all that." I smiled, and Fanger's eyes narrowed to slits. I was fully expecting her tongue to whip out and do a lizard like lick of the lips.

"I see," she said, giving James, who was weak with relief, an appraising look, "In the future I shall require a signed note from Professor Dumbledore himself, Miss Evans," she continued icily, "You may sit." And so we sat, me next to Kerin Fitzpatrick of Hufflepuff, and James next to William May of Ravenclaw. Kerin shot me what in my opinion was a completely unnecessary sly smile and jerked her head pointedly in James' direction. I gave her a bland, 'I don't know what you're on about, but yes, all right,' kind of look and went back to my textbook. After class, Black walked me back to the common room, humming merrily and doing funny little skips or jumps every now and then. I gave a long-suffering sigh and turned to face him,

"You don't want to be late for Davidson, now do you, Sirius dear?" I asked him sweetly, and the cheesy smile that had been hitherto plastered across his face was suddenly wiped away.

"Damn," he said, stopping to rummage in his bag, "How do you know my timetable?"

"I know everything, of course," I said superiorly, flicking my plait behind my back. I didn't bother to tell him that I only knew he had Divination with Professor Davidson because I make it my business to know what times divination is on so I can sit and gloat about how I didn't choose it as a NEWT subject, and airily ask those unfortunate souls who did how class was today. Black snorted at this,

"You're getting too cocky by half, Evans," he said, "Before you know it you'll find yourself out on dates with Potter having your-"

"Oh, go and get a life, Black," I said, half jokingly. Not deigning to grace this with an answer, Black rudely stuck his finger up at me traipsed off to the divination tower, "Have fun, won't you," I yelled after him, and continued on my way to the common room, whereupon I decided to go to the library instead.

Once inside I gave smile of satisfaction at the thought of Divination and assumed a relaxed at a table by the window, only to find myself sitting opposite none other than Shirley Rookwood. I growled inwardly at this misfortune and commenced ignoring her completely, my nose in a book (_One Hundred and One Seemingly Useless but_ _Actually Extremely Fascinating Potions_ by A. Lalli). Alas, the fates were not with me.

"You're really very self satisfied, aren't you?" she said, her voice light and prissy. I looked up at her warily, wondering where all this was going, fearful to saying anything lest I ignite her wrath or her rumour spreading abilities,

"Er…I'm not sure what you mean," I said non-committedly, when it became obvious an answer was required.

"Oh, well," she pattered on, "I mean, you're supposed to be very smart aren't you? And quite pretty, wouldn't you say? And _head girl_¸ of course. And now, well, _now_ you've got Potter too, haven't you? You must be quite pleased with yourself." I stared at her. Why was she talking to me? I had publicly humiliated her earlier in the year…we never spoke two words to eachother otherwise…I had a bad feeling about this. There was something dangerous about Shirley Rookwood. Something almost sinuous, her beautiful eyes were glittering…

"Er, _got_ him? I'm not _with_ Potter…if…if that's what you mean…"

"Oh, come on, Lily, you don't have to lie…everyone _knows_…we just thinks it's rather amazing that he's still after you…after you've been so _cruel _to him." I was at a loss for words. What was the meaning of this? What unsavoury rumours were flying around that I was unaware of? Shirley's tone made anger spark inside me, but also fear, which is ridiculous since she is a whole year younger than me.

"I'm _really_ not sure what you mean," I said quickly, and attempted to end the conversation by turning back to my book. But Shirley only giggled mirthlessly and fingered a golden curl,

"Oh, Lily, you surely do. You only realised what you wanted when you saw what _I _had, didn't you? And you just had to take it away…but, I daresay James will wake up to your games soon enough-"

"_What?"_ I spluttered. What was she on about? It occurred to me that perhaps she was on drugs, but the clear, vicious look in her eye suggested not, "What – I didn't take – what're you -"

"If it wasn't for _you_, he'd have stayed with me! You were there pulling on his heartstrings-"

"Shirley, you've made a mistake-"

"No mistake," she said coldly, "You _forced_ me to break up with him."

"No – no, what're you – I mean, this was all months ago-"

"Yes it was," she hissed, "But after a few little chats with Lina about _you_, I realised I had to let you know what you did, punish you for-"

"_Punish_ me? Did you say Lina _Matherson_?"

"Punish you as you _deserve_." And with this rather weak parting shot, she rose gracefully to her feet, tossed her curls and was gone. I stared at the space she had occupied. Lina Matherson? Was _her's_the authority on which Shirley dared to challenge her Headgirl? I shook my head in bewilderment as I remembered a previous occasion on which Lina had described Shirley as 'such a bimbo.' I sighed. My good mood was ruined.


End file.
